Let Me Give You What You're Giving Me
by SilveryLocks
Summary: This is my version of what happens between Buffy and Spike during their last night in Sunnydale a.k.a. the fade-out in 'Chosen', last episode of season 7. And a little twist might change everything that happened after this night... Warning for lemon-y Spuffy hotness ;-)
1. Calm The Storm

A/N: Hello readers :-)

This story was for me the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

First I wanted to fill the fade-out in 'Chosen'. This being the last night between Buffy and Spike (I'm not counting the comics here) I thought Joss Whedon was wise to leave it to the spectator's imagination (even if it's a bit frustrating, I'll admit). Here is my version of how things could have gone down.

Second, this was for me the occasion to go over all my favorite Spuffy moments. I hope you won't find it boring since there will be a lot of canon things here, but I really enjoyed writing down these parts and hopefully you'll like reading them.

A couple of remarks:  
\- I took the story's title idea from the lyrics of **'Flames' by VAST**.  
\- Again I'll say that **English isn't my first language** and I don't have a beta so I'm sorry if there are some linguistic horrors somewhere here, I'm trying my best i assure you :-) Another problem is that I've already written fanfictions in _Bristh_ english and here I'm going a bit more American when we're in Buffy's thoughts, so I hope I haven't mixed the two styles too awkwardly.  
\- **This is an M-rated Spuffy story so I hope you know what to expect** ;-) There's going to be some hot stuff so beware!

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Joss Whedon (and everybody who helped create the show I guess), and there are a lot of quotes from both scripts and transcripts taken from basically all seasons except the first one.

And now I'm letting you read ^^ I hope you'll like it.

Chapter title: Calm the Storm **-** Graffiti6.

* * *

 **Let Me Give You What You're Giving Me**

 _Set in the middle of 'Chosen', during the last night in Sunnydale._

From where she was standing on the front porch of her house, Buffy watched as the wind blew a lone sheet of paper down Revello Drive. The white leaf slowly swirled in the air, brushing against the asphalt and then taking off again, caught up in a ghostlike dance in the moonlight, as if it had a life of its own.

She kept her eyes fixed on it, fascinated by the movement, for it was the closest manifestation of life she'd seen since she'd started gazing down her street. But soon it sailed too far away, and even her Slayer eyesight couldn't keep track of it as it disappeared into the darkness. And then all was utterly still again. Nothing but empty houses, empty cars, left behind in this abandoned town.

 _Her_ abandoned town, she mused, tightening her crossed arms over her chest as the thought left a bitter aftertaste in her mind. What with the recent lack of faith that had come over her 'followers'... When they had asked her to leave, cast her out of her own home, declaring as one voice that she wasn't fit to lead them anymore. Willow, Xander, Dawn, Giles... Even if they had taken her in again, the wound was still fresh and sore.

 _Well, at least Sunnydale's crickets didn't desert._ _Yet._ She sighed and rested her head back against the column against which she'd been leaning, the steady song of the nocturnal insects her sole companion.

 _"...Used to be a highly respected Watcher. Now I'm a wounded dwarf with the mystical strength of a doily..."_

Her enhanced hearing had picked up her friends' conversation from the beginning but she hadn't paid that much attention to it, until this particular sentence put a small smile on her face in spite of everything. Who wouldn't have smiled? Picturing a dwarfed Rupert Giles wielding some magical axe...

 _"I just wish I could sleep..."_

 _"What kind of person could sleep on a night like this?"_

 _"Only the crazy ones."_

Buffy's smile slowly faded. Right in that instant, she wished she were crazy. Oh what sweet solace sleep could have provided. A break from the perpetual whirlpool of thoughts in her head. A break from the fear, the anguish, the guilt, all the emotions she kept bottled up inside, not letting them show because she couldn't risk the Potentials seeing them. Because she was a Slayer. Because she _was_ their leader. Because they needed to believe she was fearless.

She knew Faith was sleeping. For if her counterpart hadn't been asleep, Buffy would be hearing her own bed creaking in her bedroom. There was no way an awake Faith would spend her probably-last-night-on-Earth _not_ having sex, even in her still recovering state.

Faith might be a Slayer, she wouldn't be the one leading them into battle when morning would come. And for that Buffy envied her. Not having to carry this burden upon her shoulders all through the night... Even if the blond had accepted her fate and her role, it didn't make things easy for all that.

Absorbed in her own thoughts, she hadn't realised the game they'd been playing in the dining-room had ended- or maybe they were just taking a break between rounds- but suddenly Giles' guitar softly sounded in the night air. Buffy's head turned toward the house, the acoustic melody beguiling and drawing her inside. She passed Xander in the lobby, gently carrying a snoring Anya into the living-room, and they exchanged a tiny smile.

In the dining-room Amanda was slumped in her chair, eyes down as if staring at her hands resting in her lap, features shadowed and worried, while a red-hooded Andrew had propped his elbows up on the table, hands wrapped around his cheeks, gazing wholeheartedly at Giles.

Buffy admired her Watcher as well, leaning against the doorframe with her arms still wrapped around herself, unwilling to join them fully. Sitting at the far end of the table, Giles was playing with passion, fingers lithely sliding along the strings, candlelight flickering yellow on his hands. Playing softly, quietly, in order not to wake up the few who had managed to find sleep. The song was melancholic, heartbreakingly beautiful, and it hit Buffy that this might be the last time she would ever hear Giles play. This might be the last acoustic guitar song every person in this house would ever hear.

Buffy's throat constricted, the emotions suddenly overwhelming and the ambiant sadness pressing down upon her unbearable. She took a step back and retreated into the living-room where Xander was still kneeling next to the couch where he'd laid Anya down. The Slayer stepped over the mattresses strewn all over the floor, more young Potentials being in Morpheus arms than she'd expected.

She eventually crouched in front of her weapons' chest and picked up the smallest knife that was in her reach before standing up again, heading out of the room and toward the only being she wanted to be with right now.

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

His back resting against the cold grey wall of the basement, Spike sat on his cot, one forearm on his knee, the amulet dangling from his fingers at the level of his eyes. He watched the silver moonlight sparkle inside the large unidentified gem, while the piece of music Giles had been playing overhead quietly ended, soon giving birth to another song. It wasn't long before Spike recognized an instrumental version of _Fields of Gold_ , and the familiar tune wrung a sigh out of him.

 _Great. Very end-of-the-worldly. Way to lift the troops' moral, Rup'._ But if he was being honest Spike was grateful for the music, as it covered the other sounds emanating from the rest of the house. His supernatural senses far more developed than Buffy's, he was hearing it all.

Nibblet's whispering as she recounted the tale of how her big sis' had defeated the Master; the appreciative or sometimes sceptical comments from the bunch of Slayers-to-be who were listening; Demon girl's soft snoring- this one could've easily slept through a category-5 hurricane; a Hail Mary prayer one of the Potential kept muttering under her breath, the catholic litany scraping the blond vampire's nerve endings.

The entire house reeked of sorrow, apprehension and tension. Well, _except_ for Red and her new sweetheart's impassioned moans drifting out of the main bedroom. That was a nice change of tune. These two would have enjoyed the good stuff till the end... And the witch had one _big_ role to play in the upcoming events, so she clearly deserved the love. He was a bit surprised Faith and her wanker of a lover- 'Got Mummy issues' school Principal- weren't going at it as well and breaking Buffy's bed. He guessed the brunette hadn't fully recovered from the explosion yet, in spite of what she tried to let everybody believe.

Spike could have easily blocked it all out. The newbies- just wriggled out the grave vamps- Buffy was used to slay didn't have enough time to learn it, but it took only a few days for a vampire to tame its highly sensitive senses, the few who didn't manage to rein it in ended up completely nuts and pretty often walking straight out into the sunlight just so the racket in their head would end.

But Spike had been trying to locate Buffy amongst this quiet din. He'd let his hearing expand, search, focuse, he'd tried to single out her heartbeat, her breathing. He'd been expecting her to join him in his bed for a tender cuddle, he'd believed they would spend this last night in each other's chaste embrace, like they had for a couple of nights already. Best night of his long undead life, he'd told her. And according to her it'd meant something on her side too. Yet she hadn't come this time. And loneliness clawed at the vampire's unbeating heart with searing talons. He missed her more than he was willing to admit.

So being able to hear her would have been a small consolation. Hear her breathing and imagine the air fanning over his skin, hear her heartbeat and imagine it pumping close to his own chest. But even that he hadn't gotten. She'd remained so quiet, resolutely mute since the rousing speech she'd given during the afternoon when she'd revived the troops' faltering courage and had explained the plan. He had no idea where she was in the house. He knew she was _there_ , somewhere, her unique scent proving her presence, but where exactly? He didn't know and he didn't want to go after her. If she wanted some time alone to brace herself before the grand finale, so be it, he would respect her decision. As excruciating as it was.

The basement door creaked open overhead, the guitar notes suddenly a bit louder then quiet once more as the door was closed again. Spike lifted his eyes from the amulet, a wave of hope warming up his cool body, and when Buffy appeared on the stairs his heart fluttered below his skin as if it was about to beat again. He uncoiled and slowly got to his feet, his eyes never leaving her, until she'd climbed down the last step and she stood there, holding his gaze.

For a long minute they just stared at each other in silence, the moonlight pouring in through the basement hopper windows strong enough so that they could discern the other's expression clearly. Buffy had stilled her face into a neutral mask, her emotions carefully wrapped up, looking just like she had when her friends had torn her out of her peaceful afterlife and she'd tried so hard not to show them how much suffering she'd been enduring.

But she hadn't been able to hide from him then, and she couldn't do it now either. He could see her doubts and anxiety boiling in her veins, tormenting her from the inside. Spike's lips parted but no sound came out of it, his head tilted as he watched his beloved Slayer, groping for words of reassurance. He didn't need to speak though, she knew that what he'd told her at the time still stood. Now even more so.

 _If you're in pain, or if you need anything, or if I can do anything for you..._

His keen eyes noticed how her jaw clenched, how her nostrils slightly flared, and he would've bet anything that it was Watcher's music that was getting the best of her iron self-control. She swallowed labouriously and the vampire knew he had to break the silence between them, before the silence broke _her_ in half.

Feeling the amulet's chain in his right palm, he looked down at it for inspiration. "So... How d'you reckon the trinket will work?"

His soft, deep voice helped her tamp down the gripping distress that'd started bubbling up inside her and she exhaled, her muscles relaxing ever so slightly.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully.

He hadn't expected anything else. The Scooby gang had been doing a lot of research about the 'Holy Scythe'- Slayerlibur, Xander had called it, pretty fitting according to Spike- and they hadn't had the time to do the same with Sweetie-Bear's thingummy. It wasn't really surprising, the Scythe was supposed to be the key to everything, the amulet was just a backup. But since Spike would be the one wearing it, he would have liked to know a bit more about it. The only thing that reassured him was that his Los Angelean poof of a grandsire had been ready to wear it himself, and he didn't think Angel had a death wish currently.

Buffy wasn't thrilled about being in the dark either. She hadn't wanted Angel to sport the amulet, nevertheless she certainly didn't want to put Spike in harm's way in his place. But these were desperate times. And she hated to admit it but Giles had been right about the fact that Buffy needed to stop playing the role of a general and start being one. This was the way wars were won. Even if the thought of losing Spike was nauseating, she had to think not as Buffy Summers but as the Slayer. She had to see the big picture and focuse on her mission. And from the Slayer's point of view, _all_ kind of help was welcomed.

 _The mission is what matters._

When she'd told Angel she needed him far away from Sunnydale, running a second front in case they failed to nip the First's attempt of invasion in the bud, he hadn't liked it, but he'd understood. Spike wouldn't have. Even if she'd ordered him to leave, begged, yelled, beated him to a pulp, he wouldn't have left her. Not now. She believed he would have done anything she'd asked, except for this. And so her blond vampire was the only one around here fit to wear the mysterious talisman. Only being 'with a soul but more powerful than human' in the vicinity who wasn't a Slayer. How convenient.

 _Very powerful and probably very dangerous_. That was how Buffy's first love had described the object. Still she had handed it over to Spike. To the only person in this house who'd never doubted her. The only one who'd stood up for her when no one else had. The one who hadn't given up on her.

And in that moment when she'd put it in his hand, she'd felt like she'd just signed his death warrant somehow. _No. No. Angel was ready to wear it himself. Angel knows what he's doing._

Willing her mind to stop sliding down this treacherous path of thoughts, Buffy slipped out of the khaki shirt she'd been wearing over her simple black tank top and slang it over the stairs' banister before taking a step closer to Spike. "It bestows strength to-"

"The person who wears it, yeah, yeah," he finished with a half roll of his eyes. "Heard what Big Fluffy Puppy said. Eavesdropped, remember?" he ironized, pointing at his ear with the hand that held the amulet.

He sighed loudly, a smirk playing on his lips at the look Buffy gave him when she heard Angel's newfound nickname. Unfazed, Spike came over to lay the amulet on the square wooden table in the middle of the room, and in doing so he closed half of the distance between them, leaving the rest to her.

"Has no sodding idea what he's doing, that's what is it," he grumbled, facing the table with his long pale fingers still lingering on the huge gem.

Giles was still going all 'Jimi Hendrix' overhead and this time the vampire recognized _Shape of My Heart_.

 _Sting fan pretty much? Bloody have to admit Watcher can hold his own with a guitar. Wish the übervamps' head could explode whenever they heard music like the aliens in Mars Attack... That would make things a hell of a lot easier._

Spike was gazing up at the ceiling, his thoughts running wild, until he noticed Buffy approaching from the corner of his eye. She came up behind him, snaked her arms around his waist, and leaned into him.

"I don't think any of us really knows what we're doing," she murmured, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

His lean body tensed up for a second since she'd caught him by surprise. Sure she'd snuggled up against him for the past couple of nights, fallen asleep in his arms, looked unblinkingly into his eyes and told him it all _meant_ something to her. But this time she was the one holding him. Clinging to him, her warm little body pressed to his back, her heartbeat pounding against his skin as if it was his own.

Desire stirred to life in the pit of his stomach in response to her affection, and he quickly smothered it, ashamed of his body reaction. Buffy had made it clear a while ago that she didn't want that kind relations with him anymore. He was willing to give her anything she wanted, willing to be anything she wanted, but he wouldn't do it unless she asked, wouldn't initiate anything unless she specifically told him to.

Forcing himself to unwind, he covered her hands with his own and slightly turned his head to the side. "Still convinced we're gonna win, eh, pet?"

Her eyes drifted shut when she felt his back vibrate with each word and she tightened her hold, breathing in his smell deeply. Earth, pine, leather, a hint of tobacco, and just _him_ , Spike. Who knew how many other chances she would have to be close to him like this?

 _Everything is more tragically beautiful because we're doomed_. _Because every moment might be the last._

"Yes," she replied to his surprise. "And I also know not all of us will make it through tomorrow."

Spike froze, his body's temperature dropping even lower than usual. What did she mean she _knew?_ Like, 'I have a bad feeling about this' sort of thing, or more like Slayer visions, Holier-than-thou kind of knowledge?

He reached around until his hand closed on her upper-arm and he gently pulled her in front of him so he could look down into her green eyes. " _You_ will," he said firmly. "You'd better."

Her thin ebony, V neckline, tank top didn't do much covering, leaving her throat, shoulders, and cleavage exposed. The moonlight brushed her delicate skin, flickered against her small dangling earrings, silvered her blond hair. She looked so beautiful and breakable, Spike felt the sudden urge to cry. He knew she was strong, the strongest woman on the planet... But why had fate chosen such an angelic creature for such a heavy burden? The Chosen One, always alone.

"I mean it," he insisted, trying to conceal the hoarsness of his voice, when she didn't answer. "'Cause mark my words Slayer, if you die tomorrow, I'll make pretty damn sure Red brings you back again. And I don't give a flying fuck where it'll pull you out from." She'd been looking down but that last sentence dragged her gaze up to his eyes and he rigidly held her stare. "If you're not happy with that, you only have yourself to blame. That's what you get for making a selfish vampire like me fall in love with you." Oh he meant it. He truly did. What was the point of saving the world if she didn't get to live in it anymore?

Jade eyes softened at this umpteenth declaration of love. Buffy's hand came up to cup his cheek and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips for an instant. But it didn't last and her features clouded over with worry once again. "And if neither of us makes it?"

 _Optimism is in the air tonight_ , Spike thought, sighing. He took her hand in his and gently skimmed his lips over her knuckles. "Then, wherever you are I'll find you, wreak havoc like I know how to, and I'll make sure we're both such pains in the arse that whoever will be in charge will have no choice but to send us back where we came from," he concluded with a little shrug. "Simple."

The quiet chuckle his little rant earned him brought a warm smile to his face, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her small form when she stepped into them, silently asking for a hug. Eyes closed and cheek resting against her head he held her close, tenderly smoothing her hair, basking in her presence. His Slayer. His Buffy. The love of his undead life.

"How long has it been since you last fed?"

Spike's eyes opened again and his brows slightly drew together. That was unexpected. He had to flick through his memories a bit before answering. "Uh... Well there was the blood bag that _you_ fed me... And er, had a teensy-tiny nip out of Faith's stallion, right after he tried to ice me that is," he quickly added, not particularly proud of himself. He didn't give a rat's arse about the School's Principal, but he did care about Buffy's opinion, and a Slayer couldn't approve feeding off humans, even when they were dickheads.

Buffy disengaged herself from his embrace. "So it's been days."

"We vamps don't need to feed as often as humans, once every couple of days is more than enough," Spike explained, looking at her curiously. She already knew that...

She turned around and started to circle the table slowly, her fingertips brushing its wooden surface as she walked. "How are you feeling?"

The way she spoke, Spike understood it was the Slayer talking. _The general's assessing her troops._

"I'm alright," he cautiously answered.

She'd reached the other end of the table and a sigh escaped her. She was looking down at her hand on the table and slightly shook her head. "I need you to be better than alright."

Spike straightened up, feeling a bit ill at ease, and tucked his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants. "Well, with the power out the bags that were in the fridge ran stale. Guess it's the same in the whole town, there's not much we can do about it. But Buffy, truly, I'm fi-"

"You need fresh blood."

Spike fell silent, frowning as he observed her, trying to suss her out. "Are you... Are you suggesting that there's someone up there offering?" he queried doubtfully. She just gazed at him and didn't deny it. "Buffy, whoever I drink from will be weakened. I mean, if there was someone who'd planned on staying behind then alright. But from what I understood even Harris and Nibblet are coming..."

"You need more than common human blood."

He marked a pause, eyes widening in disbelief. "What?"

The Slayer stood her ground, holding her chin high, determination flaring in her eyes. And Spike couldn't pretend he didn't see where she was going with this any longer.

"No." His voice was low, dark, and predatory in spite of his refusal. He took a step back from the table. "No way, not in a million years."

"Spike-"

"Forget it!" he exclaimed, tone getting louder. "Not gonna happen, so forget it," he repeated, this time pointing a menacing finger at her.

Had she _lost her mind?!_ The vampire started pacing agitatedly around the room, his insides twisting with fear for his Slayer but also, and he couldn't help it, with a certain amount of excitement about what she was proposing. He'd dreamed about it, often, but he would never _ever_ have thought possible that one day she would offer it to him. The demon within him unfurled, stretched awake, leering at Buffy with new interest. _Sssslayer blood_... William felt it in his bones, this instant raw craving for her sweet red wine, and it scared the living hell out of him.

Buffy carefully advanced toward him, slowly, trying not to scare away this wild creature standing before her. "Spike," she reached out to him, her voice gentle and soothing, "You're the strongest warrior we have, I'm counting on you. I need you to be at your maximum potential, not just 'alright'." He was backing away, shaking his head, the heel of his hand pressed tightly against his temple as if he was fighting off the First's influence again, or as if he still had his chip implanted. "I believe only Slayer blood will do the trick," she kept going.

"Then I'll take a sip out of Faith," he declared after a few seconds, trying to sound categorical and staring at her defiantly.

That stopped her momentum. She stood frozen, the icy hand of jealousy suddenly squeezing her heart until it burned. Her gaze dropped to the floor, self-confidence dissolving as the scene she'd walked in on a couple of days earlier popped up in her mind. A shirtless Spike and a flirting Faith smoking together on his cot, intimate, the dark-haired Slayer clearly in femme fatale mode.

The pain etched on her face was so plain to see that he quickly caught on what she was thinking, and couldn't hold back his grunt of frustration. "Buffy! I've told you again and again: you're the only one! More than that, you're _the One_. What will it take for you to believe me?!"

Seriously, how could she assume he'd want Faith over her? He'd almost bashed the girl's face in when he'd learned she'd tried to steal Buffy's leadership! Couldn't she understand that if she asked him to let his demon loose he'd rather risk Faith's life instead of hers?

"Then why?" Buffy muttered, hurt still laced in her voice.

Spike raked both his hands through his platinum hair and sucked in a long, deep breath of air. "Faith hasn't recovered completely yet," he tried to infuse his voice with a steady, reasonable tone, all the while keeping the Craving at bay. "There's a chance she still won't be combat-ready when she wakes up. In that case I'll drink from _her_ , and she'll go back to Angel and join the Los Angelean ranks to fight on the second front, like you said."

She pondered it for a second, the Slayer taking over jealous Buffy and analyzing his proposition earnestly, and for a moment he dared to hope he'd managed to convince her. Hope that was dashed when she locked her eyes on his again.

"No," she said, resolute once again. "Faith will stay here. We need her here. You, Spike, came to me when I was alone and you helped me believe in myself again. Now it's my turn to give you strength, let me return the favor."

She took a step forward and his hands flashed up, stopping her. "Not at the expense of your own strength. Slayer haven't you heard a _word_ I said? It'll _weakened_ you. You won't be able to fight if you have a headrush everytime you turn around!" Damn it, this Slayer of his could be so thickheaded sometimes!

"Not if you only take a small amount," she argued. "Slayers heal faster than you think, Spike."

Fed up with this verbal sparring, the low rumble that came up from the back of his throat matched the feral expression that took over his moonlit face. " _Enough_ ," he said quietly, his voice somehow far scarier than if he'd shouted the word. "I haven't gone to the other side of the globe to fetch my soul so that I could come back here and..." He swallowed, eyes closing for an instant. "Buffy, I _won't_ bite you."

She slowly exhaled, intimidated despite herself. It was hard to tell who was the most stubborn of the two, but in all events Buffy had made up her mind.

"You won't need to." And as she stated this she reached out behind her, her fingers wrapping around the knife that she'd tucked in the waistband of her pants.

The small blade gleamed in the moonlight and if Spike had still been alive, his heart would have missed a beat. So she had planned this from the very beginning. She'd come down here not to be with him, not as Buffy, but as the Slayer, come to feed her most precious asset up to its full strength.

"Buffy," her name slipped from his lips in an anguished breath. "Don't do it."

Unperturbed, she placed the knife against the side of her neck. Against the _left_ side of her neck, that was still untouched, not marred by the scars the Master, Angel, and Dracula had left on her. Yet before the cold metal could pierce the skin Spike suddenly stood before her, his fingers clasped around her wrist. Her lips parted, her heart picking up speed at having him so near so abruptly. There was just something about the agile way he moved, something about his feline eyes and the fierce look in them, something about his damn cheekbones that made sensations ripple through her skin, turning her insides to mush...

Their closeness in this tense atmosphere affected him too. "Love..." he muttered, his cool breath caressing her lips. "This is _your_ blood we're talking about. I might not be able to stop."

She blinked, breathing hard with the knife remaining held up to her neck. "You've tasted Slayer blood before."

 _Yeah, and I got high on it for the better part of the night_. _Bloodlust and sexual desire get along only too well. I used to crave Dru's blood when I was still in love with her, and the demon in me always had a thing for Slayers... Now, I love_ you _, and you're a Slayer. Mix the two together and you get a dangerous combination._ Too _dangerous._

"And you've seen me bleed before," she pointed out. But there was a difference between seeing her injured after a fight, and her willingly offering him to drink straight from the vein. He tried to pull her hand away from her neck but she resisted. "I trust you," she said sincerely, looking straight into his eyes. "I know you'll stay in control. And if I have to then _I'll_ stop you. I'm not some helpless prey that can't defend itself."

With these words she pushed the blade into her skin, barely wincing when it finally drew blood. Spike recoiled as if she'd punched him in the gut. It knocked the wind out of him, the scent rich and thick, sharpening his senses to a razor's edge. Nothing could grab a vampire's attention like the ruby red and the demon had surfaced, transforming his features, ready to dive in. The only thing that stopped it from pouncing on her was Spike's soul, which wanted one thing and one thing only: storm up the stairs and get as far away from her as possible.

Low growl vibrating deep in his chest, his golden gaze stayed locked upon the cut, transfixed by the dark liquid, nearly black in this light, as it slowly slithered down her neck like some sort of fluid caviar, over her collarbone, started down her cleavage, calling to him...

Buffy sensed the struggle inside him and she reached out, her fingers tracing invitingly along his forearm, feeling the tense muscles flexing with leashed power under his pale skin, and eventually grabbing his upper arm. She could feel him start to yield when she pulled him to her and he bore no resistance, sliding closer to her, unblinking, as if hypnotized by the sight of her.

Heart thumping to a wild beat in anticipation, the sound drumming in the vampire's head as if nothing else existed, she pulled her hair so it all fell across her right shoulder and tilted her head to the side, giving herself over to him. That was what finally set him in into motion, her offering attitude luring him in. His left hand came up, entangling his fingers into the silken strands of her blond hair, while his right arm wound around her waist, pulling her body flush against his and tearing a little gasp for her lips. He walked her backward until the table dug into the back of her thighs and she was trapped between its edge and his hips.

He leaned in close, the mere feeling of his breathing stroking the skin of her throat invoking goosebumps down her back, and she began to feel dizzy before he'd even touched her. God, she'd forgotten how much power he could have over her. How he could make her so freaking weak in the knees with a snap of his fingers... Finally the lukewarm wetness of his tongue caressed her, and the Slayer's mind went blank, her eyes closing and her head lolling back in abandon.

The potent taste of Buffy Summers' blood spread through his mouth, warmed him from head to toe, and the flavor exploded in his mind like fireworks. She tasted like sunlight, and honey, and youth, and fire, and power, and forbidden, and passion, and love, and lust, and hot sex...and next thing he knew his fangs penetrated the tender skin around the cut, good intentions forgotten, and he sucked long and deep, triumphant ecstasy flooding through him.

Buffy quietly yelped, out of surprise more than pain, the knife slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor, her hands seized his shoulders and she pulled him close. Meanwhile the sinful connection had taken hold of their minds, and it sent both of the former lovers on an unexpected and vivid stroll down memory lane.

* * *

Thanks for reading. And remember, review is love :-)

AN: Here's a youtube playlist with all the songs that inspire the chapters' titles plus the songs Giles play on his guitar, just in case you're interested :-)  
The end of the URL: **/playlist?list=PLjSq_paEfXoyIsJeQTscGb8IWSvtR1eaQ**


	2. Welcome To The Devil's Playground

Chapter title: Devil's Playground - The Rigs

* * *

*-X-*-X-*-X-*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*

 _Spike had been observing her for a while. So...this was the famous Slayer who frightened everycorpsy? The one who'd bested the old geezer some called the Master and had stopped the Apocalypse?_

 _Typical Californian schoolgirl, that was what she looked like, worrying about boys and grades, deluding herself into thinking she could study in a place like this._

 _When she and her mates hit the dancefloor he slowly moved through the crowd, predatory eyes gliding along her slender and athletic body from afar, the strong beating of her heart tuning out from the music. So young, so innocent, so...bitable._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Buffy plunged her stake deep into the vamp's chest, in the alley just behind the Bronze, and his snarl froze in place seconds before his whole head burst into dust, the rest of his body quickly following. His ashes had not yet reached the ground when some loud, lazy hand clapping could suddenly be heard._

 _She whirled on her heel and peered into the dark, from where another vampire emerged, all back leather coat, burgundy shirt, and bleached blond hair. "Nice work, luv," he ironically exulted._

 _Mm, British vamp. This one would be her first, her usual kills being mostly locals. She examined him, body still whipped up by the fight and ready to attack. "Who are you?" No harm in doing a little pre-slay chit-chat if that was what he wanted..._

 _"You'll find out on Saturday," he teased, a cocky glare in his eyes._

 _He wouldn't live that long. Didn't he know who she was? "What happens on Saturday?" she indulged him, flicking a loose strand of hair away from her face._

 _His eyes darkened even more, his expression turning dead serious. "I kill you."_

 _Buffy's ghost of a smirk faded. This one was different. He knew perfectly who she was, and he was after her_ specifically _. She could tell he was old, he was experienced, he was calculating. Her Slayer's instincts told her not to go after him and she listened, letting him vanish back into the darkness where he belonged._

 _This one was dangerous._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"Fee, fi, fo, fum... I smell the blood of a nice ripe...girl."_

 _Spike slowly turned to face her, his face twisted by the demon he hosted, bloodlust swimming in his golden eyes._

 _She held his stare, clearly unimpressed. "Do we really need weapons for this?" She obviously wanted to tear him apart with her own hands._

 _"I just like them," he replied as if they were just having some small talk. "They make me feel all manly," he added, grotesquely rubbing his hand down his abs._

 _Nevertheless he tossed the pole aside, which hit the floor with a loud rattling sound, and stalked closer to her. The Slayer dropped the axe at her feet and leaned back against the doorframe behind her._

 _"The last Slayer I killed," he said, while keeping on advancing, slowly, "she begged for her life." That was a lie but it didn't matter. The goal was to provoke her, get her to attack first. She didn't lash out yet, but she did push herself away from the wall and they started circling each other. "You don't strike me as the begging kind," he drawled._

 _"You shouldn't have come here."_

 _Her seriousness prompted a chuckle out of him. "No," he agreed. "I've messed up your doilies and stuff. But I just got so bored," he sighed, then sniggered. "I'll tell you what. As a personal favour from me to you, I'll make it quick. It won't hurt a bit."_

 _"No, Spike," she replied sweetly, and the way his name rolled off her righteous tongue did certain things to his body, "it's gonna hurt a lot."_

 _Mmm, a Slayer with sass. He was going to enjoy killing her._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Spike closed in on dark-haired Buffy as she backed away, trembling in her pink princess' dress._

 _"Look at you... You're shaking," he crooned. "Terrified. Alone. Lost little lamb..."_

 _She couldn't go any further, a crate blocking her retreat, and his hand dashed forward, its back slapping her tears stained cheek._

 _"I love it."_

 _She broke into quiet sobs, completely and utterly vulnerable as his fingers closed around her throat and he slowly bent her backward onto the crate until he towered over her. She wasn't even trying to fight back. His other hand fisted into her hair and he leaned in for a bite with a low growl, his whole body throbbing in anticipation._

 _Children's whines suddenly erupted behind him and he straightened up, casting a look over his shoulder. All his monstrous acolytes had turned back into small kids somehow._ Terrified _small kids as it happened. Spike looked at the wig he'd just realised was in his hand and then at the smiling blonde Slayer who'd gotten up off of the crate._

 _"Hi, honey. I'm home," she said gleefully before she hit him. Once, twice, three times, until a hard kick in the chest sent him stagger backward into a set of mobile stairs._

 _He glared at her, shaking with frustration._ So _close_.

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"Hold right there! Put your hands on your head! Do it!" the police officer barked._

 _Buffy nearly flinched, eyes fixed on the barrel of the gun pointed at her, and slowly started to raise her hands. But she jumped when the weapon was suddenly kicked out of the man's grip. The officier was punched in the face and in the chin by some kind of blond, leathery blur, then grabbed and thrown onto the hood of his car where he lay unconscious._

 _"Hello, cutie," Spike sighed, a small smirk plastered on his face._

 _He took a step toward her and her fist collided with his chin before any other word could leave his lips. Instead of fighting back he grabbed her shoulders, trying to restrain her, but she kicked his guts with her knee._

 _"Ugh! Will you hold on a second? !" he grunted, shoving her away from him._

 _When she reached into her coat and pulled out a stake the vampire jumped back and held up his hands in surrender._

 _"Hey! White flag here, I quit!" he exclaimed._

 _"Let me clear this up for you," she snapped back, waving her stake in the air while she spoke. "We're mortal enemies, we don't get time-outs." Who did he think he was? Did he truly believed she was gonna let him walk away this time?! Especially after what they'd done to Kendra... This time Drusilla_ would _fit in an ashtray when Buffy was done with her..._

 _"You want to go around, pet, I'll have a gay ol' time of it," he said, still holding his hands back. "You want to stop Angel...we're gonna have to play this a bit differently."_

 _Buffy hesitated but didn't lower her stake for all that. "What are you talking about?" she asked with a frown. And since when did the bleached bloodsucker refer to them as_ 'we' _?_

 _"I'm talking about you ex, pet," and here was this annoying endearment again, "I'm talking about putting him in the bloody ground."_

 _She stared at him for an instant and then chuckled without humour. "This has got to be the_ lamest _trick you guys ever thought up!" she spat out, her voice shaking with anger._

 _"He's got your Watcher," Spike said haughtily, straigthening up. "Right now he's probably torturing him."_

 _That argument hit home forcing her to swallow around the lump in her throat. "What do you want?"_

 _"I told you, I want to stop Angel," he insisted. And he huffed out a soft chuckle before adding: "I want to save the world."_

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"Touch her and I'll cut your head off," Angel grumbled through gritted teeth, seething, while Spike still fooled around behind Joyce's back._

 _"Yeah? You and what army?" the British vamp quipped, thoroughly enjoying himself._

 _"That would be me!"_

 _He'd not even registered the Slayer's words yet when she shoved him away from her mother. She slammed him onto the kitchen island's countertop, and kept him pinned down with a hand at his throat. Turnaround situation pretty much... Funny, he knew there was a good chance she was about to off him any second, and yet he kind of_ liked _the way she was holding him down... Until she invited his insufferable grandsire into her house that is._

 _"Angel? Why don't you come on in," she said softly as she squeezed Spike's throat._

 _"Oh! Oh no," Joyce fretted, backing away from Angel._

 _"You shouldn't have come back, Spike," the Slayer muttered threateningly, her pelvis pressing him into the island._

 _"I do what I please," he returned her, always the smartass reply on his tongue, no matter what._

 _"O-okay, I'm confused again," Joyce stuttered, royally ignored by the other three as Spike suddenly tried to struggle free from the Slayer's grip._

 _He made a grab for her arm but her traitorous douche of a boyfriend snatched Spike's wrist, yanked it off the Slayer and pinned it to the island, twisting his arm in the process. The blond vampire grunted in pain and had the time to see half of his undead life stream before his eyes between the moment the Slayer's hand grabbed a wooden stirring spoon from the countertop and reared back to slay him._

 _"Willow!" Spike exclaimed, his body tensing, expecting the final blow._

 _The Slayer stayed her thrust, the spoon still clasped rigidly in her hand, and scrutinized him, trying to find any crumb of bluff on his face. The vampire took the time to exhale in relief, glad that his true death hadn't quite come yet._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Spike growled and lurched forward, only to be instantly stopped by the chains restraining him. Not that he could have done her any damage if he_ had _managed to grab her. William the Bloody made harmless by a chip in his head. Could it get any more ironic?_

 _"You know what?" Buffy said as their captive slumped back into the bathtub with a sigh. "I don't think you want us to let you go." She crouched so that her face was at the level of his and laid her arms along the tub's edge. "Maybe we made it a little too comfy in here for ya."_

 _"Comfy?" he repeated, blue eyes throwing daggers at her, the only form of attack that was left to him. "I'm chained in a bathtub drinkin' pig's blood from a novelty mug. Doesn't rank huge in the Zagut's Guide."_

 _"You want something nicer?" she asked invitingly while looking deep into his eyes. She pulled back a bit and leaned her head to the side, skimming a finger down her own throat. "Look at my poor neck... All bare, and tender, and exposed..." She looked round at him again, watching him slowly draw closer, his eyes fixed on her pulse, licking his lips. She was jubilating inside, because taunting this formerly dangerous creature was so much fun, but also because that look of hunger on his face brought to life a strangely pleasant tingle in her stomach. "All that blood," she kept going, with a flirty tinge in her voice, "pumping away..."_

 _That was apparently the last straw. "Oh, please," Buffy's watcher said with a roll of his eyes, turning around._

 _"Giles," Spike whimpered. "Make her stop!"_

 _"If those two don't kill each other, I might lend a hand," Giles mumbled as he walked out of the bathroom._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"Honey!" Buffy exclaimed when Spike was knocked on his back by the demon he'd been bravely fighting. The pissed off Slayer kicked the bastard out of the crypt before slamming the door in his demony face, and then she ran to the side of her still-dazed fiancé. "Oh, Spike, are you okay?" she asked worriedly, placing a soothing hand on his chiseled chest._

 _Her bleached love lifted his head from the ground and stared at her with sudden carnal hunger in his sapphire eyes. "Slayer..."_

 _His hot, manly, heavenly voice made her swoon with desire and she dived, molding her mouth around his perfect, bloodsucking lips. Caught up in the moment she straddled him, his strong arms encircled her, and they snogged each other's face off lovingly on the crypt's floor, while Xander and Anya kept on struggling with the last demon._

 _Thunder crackled through the room, Willow appeared in a corner. "Let the healing power begin," the witch commanded, "let my will be safe again. As these words of peace are spoken, let this harmful spell be broken." Thunder crashed once more, lightening flashed, and the remaining demon disappeared, charm broken._

 _Buffy and Spike pulled away from each other, their lips parting noisily, and their eyes widened in horror._

 _"Ugh!" Buffy gasped, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach._

 _"Oh, bloody hell!" the vampire yelled, shoving her off._

 _They both jumped to their feet and away from each other, wiping their mouth, complaining and gagging._

 _"Spike's lips!" Buffy whined agitatedly, bending over as if she was about to throw up. "Lips of Spike!"_

 _And not just his lips, but his_ tongue _as well. And his arousal that had been pressed against her just seconds ago. And his taste! Ugh, bad guys were supposed to be bad in and out! Especially William the Bloody, with everything horrible he'd done, he should have tasted like death and rot. So WHY did he have to taste so freaking, gut-meltingly delicious?!_

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Buffy pulled her hair out from beneath the collar of her jean jacket as she walked away from the porch of her house, but she suddenly stopped in her tracks, eyes narrowing, sensing a presence that didn't belong here. She cast a few glances around her until she spotted him. With two long strides she reached out behind the tree where he'd been hiding in the shadows and yanked him into the light of the street-lamps._

 _"Spike," she said, rolling her eyes._

 _Tossing the cigarette that had been hanging from his lips onto the ground, he looked unusually embarrassed, eyes darting around. "Hi, Buffy," he muttered softly, shyly._

 _Buffy sighed, really not in the mood for his games tonight. "Don't take this the wrong way but..." She finished her sentence with a sharp punch in his face. She'd been itching to hit something, and that was what one got when one was caught lurking around the Slayer's home like a perv._

 _"Ow!" Spike stumbled a step back and pressed his palm against his sore nose._

 _"What are you doing here?" she inquired, lips setting into a serious line._

 _The vampire inhaled, hands gesticulating in the air as if he was about to engage in some grand explanation._

 _"Five words or less," she interrupted before he'd even started, wanting him to cut the crap._

 _He looked daggers at her, jaw clenching with irritation while he searched for the right words. His hand came up, and he counted on his fingers. "Out. For. A. Walk." He realised he still had one word left. "Bitch."_

 _"Out for a walk at night by my house. No one has time for this, William," she replied, emphasizing his name and placing her hands on her hips, patronizing._

 _His scarred eyebrow rose up slightly. "On your merry way, then," he huffed. "You know, contrary to one's self-involved world-view, your house happens to be directly between..." he hesitated, "parts...and- and other parts of this town. And I would pass by in the day but I feel I'm outgrowing my whole 'burst into flame' phase."_

 _She stared at him for a second, knowing pretty well he hadn't answered her question, but she didn't really care anymore. After all, Spike was harmless to humans now so, whatever... "Fine. Keep going, I cut you a break." She started to walk away._

 _Yet he stepped sideways, holding her back as if he didn't want her to leave._

 _"Oh, yeah. Okay, let me guess... you won't kill me? Wooo... the whole crowd-pleasing threats-and-swagger routine. How stunningly original." Buffy sighed again, but let him ramble on some more. "You know, I'm just passing through. Satisfied?"_

 _This time she was the one to raise an eyebrow, watching him step back and forth nervously before her. "You know," he scoffed, "I really hope so. 'cause_ God _knows you need some satisfaction in life besides shagging Captain Cardboard," he pointed an accusing finger at her bedroom's window while she frowned at him in puzzlement. "And-and I never really liked you anyway and... and you have stupid hair. Mm."_

 _And with this he turned around and stalked off into the night, leaving a completely flummoxed Buffy behind him. Had he drunk some junkies's heroin-soaked blood before coming here?_

 _What the hell was_ wrong _with him?_

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Spike rushed inside the workout room through the back door, grinning viciously, glad that he wasn't too late for the show. If the Slayer was getting beat up he really didn't want to miss it. Finally someone out there who was willing to do what he couldn't because of his damn bloody chip._

 _The Slayer was on her back, trying to wrestle some nasty looking demon off of her while a second demon was circling around the two. Spike caught his tongue between his teeth as he smiled, already enjoying himself. She eventually kicked the first away but the second one grabbed her from behind as soon as she got up onto her feet. Spike's smirk slightly dwindled. He'd expected her to throw some spinning back kick into the rasta-clown idiot behind her but instead she was struggling labouriously, half of her jabs missing their target. She looked as if she was fighting blind._

 _The first demon scrambled to its feet, raised a clawed hand in the air and was ready to strike the unsuspecting Slayer. Spike rolled his eyes, grin completely gone, and grunted in exasperation at his own conflicting feelings. The vampire hurried forward with a snarl and tackled the demoniac wanker who was trying to hurt his Slayer._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Spike stormed through the night with a murderous glint in his eyes, knuckles clenched white around his pump-action shotgun, leather duster billowing behind him. He was heading for Revello Drive to end it all. To end this insane obsession he had, to free himself of Buffy Summers, to put down the woman who treated him like less than dirt, chip be damned._

 _He reached the Summers' backgarden and lurked in the bushes, peering into the night at his mortal enemy's house. Fate it seemed was on his side, for the back door opened and the Slayer walked out alone and sat down on the porch's steps. She curled up on herself, put her head in her lap, and so she couldn't see him slowly approaching her. Couldn't see the determined glare in his dark blue eyes, couldn't see his jaw's muscles knotting with hatred when he lifted and cocked the gun._

 _But she heard it, and she looked up. "What do you want now?" Her voice was but a weak agonized murmur, barely breaking the night's quiet whisper._

 _Spike curled his lips and breathed in, ready to pour out his heart and give her back the venom she'd poisoned him with, finger already on the trigger. And then he saw it. Misery. Tears streaming down her pink cheeks, brows drawn together in anguish, sadness a palpable force around her._

 _The hatred vanished. Rage disappeared in a heartbeat, instantly replaced by overwhelming worry and disquiet. "What's wrong?" he heard himself say, swallowing hard against the lump that had just formed thick in his throat._

 _Buffy shied away from his gaze, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't want to talk about it," she murmured, sniffing._

 _Spike lowered the gun, his hands dropping helplessly to his sides, and he stared at her, groping for words that wouldn't come. This wasn't right. The strongest woman in the world wasn't supposed to cry like that, she wasn't supposed to be vulverable enough to be in that much pain. "Is there something I can do?" he finally asked, hesitant._

 _She didn't respond but it looked like a fresh wave of tears was on its way and he guessed that the answer was 'no'. His head tilted as he gazed at her, wondering what on earth could make her feel like that. Not knowing what to do with himself he eyed the gun in his hands. Well, he certainly didn't feel like shooting her now. On the contrary, he only wanted to make her suffering go away, he just had no idea how._

 _He cautiously came over to sit next to her, lay the gun down, and gazed at her profile, which she tried to hide behind her golden hair. Venturing into unknown territory he gingerly patted her back a couple of times, trying to bring her as much comfort as she would allow._

 _And then he just sat with her in the silent night._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"I love you."_

 _"Oh my god," Buffy moaned, closing her eyes and grimacing in disgust._

 _"Hey, no, look at me," Spike ordered, placing a hand under her chin and forcing her to face him again. She struggled against the chains that held her but her green eyes opened nonetheless. The light coming from the torches scattered around the crypt's underground danced and flickered across his smooth angular face, and damn that man would be so attractive if he were a man. Devils shouldn't have been allowed to saunter around wearing bodies like his, smelling all manly and tasting like blissful sin._

 _"I... love you," he repeated, apparently trying to put as much intensity behind the words as he could. Parody of love. Spike wasn't a man, no more than Pinocchio was a real boy. He was speaking the words but couldn't understand the meaning. He was mistaking lust and obsession for love. Buffy jerked her chin out of his grasp but it didn't discouraged him for all that. "You're all I bloody think about. Dream about." Given the more-than-creepy altar he'd build to her, she believed that. "You're in my gut, in my throat... I'm drowning in you Summers, I'm drowning in you..."_

 _Some mad cackle rose up from Drusilla's throat and echoed throughout the room._

 _"I can do without the laugh track, Dru," he tossed over his shoulder._

 _"But it's so funny," his sire said with her unnerving soft voice. "I knew... Before you did. I knew you loved the Slayer. The pixies in my head whispered it to me..."_

 _Spike turned to Buffy again, ignoring the rambling nutjob behind him. "You can't tell me that there isn't anything there between you and me. I_ know _you feel something."_

 _"It's called revulsion," she snapped. He'd killed more innocents than she could count, he was_ insane _if he thought she could feel anything other than disgust for him. "And whatever you think you're feeling, it's not love. You can't love without a soul," she asserted. Angel was the living...or undead proof of it. And well, okay, maybe Angel had killed even more people than Spike but it hadn't been Angel, it'd been Angelus. The soul made all the difference._

 _"Oh, we can, you know," Drusilla cut in again. "We can love quite well... If not wisely." That demented bitch was_ so _going to litter the floor, as soon as Buffy was free._

 _"You still don't believe," Spike said to Buffy, eyes narrowing. "Still don't think I mean it. You want proof?" His voice dropped to a murmur. "How's this?" He strode over to her shrine, picked up a stake, stalked toward his tied-up sire and moved in to stake her, but froze with the wooden weapon pressed tightly against Drusilla's breast, just over her heart. Spike looked over to Buffy. "I'm gonna kill Drusilla for you." And the she-vamp just bursted out giggling again._

 _So what? He thought killing one more creature was going make everything alright? Even if, oh, she_ really _wanted to see Drusilla blow up into ashes... For Kendra if for nothing else. "That doesn't prove anything," Buffy shrugged. "Except that you're a sick, miserable vampire that I should have dusted a long time ago. And, hey, already there."_

 _"Don't mock this," he protested._

 _"Don't mock yourself."_

 _"This is_ Drusilla _, girl," Spike exclaimed, lowering the stake and pointing a finger at his sire. "D'you have the slightest idea what she means to me?! It's the face of my salvation!" He turned to face Drusilla and his voice softened a notch. "She delivered me from mediocrity. For over a century we cut a swath through continents... A hundred years, she never stopped surprising me." His hand came up to stroke the dark haired vampire's cheek, and she leaned into his palm. "Never stopped taking me to new depths... I was a lucky bloke, just to touch such a black beauty..."_

 _Buffy huffed and rolled her eyes. Great. Two bloodsucking psychos making googly eyes at each other in front of her. Someone please kill her already... And what the hell did he see in her anyway? This... deranged... lanky... drawling relic?_

 _His knuckles carressed Drusilla's neck tenderly and she cooed. "Aww..." Yet the gentle look on her face quickly disappeared when Spike suddenly lifted the stake again and put it firmly against her chest. "Ow," she winced, tensing up._

 _Spiked turned his attention to Buffy again. "So you see," he said, no tenderness left in his tone, "it means something."_

 _"Not to me," Buffy scoffed. "Kill her, why do I care?" But please, do kill her._

 _Spike's brows rose in astonishment, visibly not liking her offhand tone. "Here's why." He walked toward her, Drusilla glaring at the back of his head. "If you don't admit that there's something there... some tiny feeling for me... then I'll untie Dru, and let her kill you instead."_

 _Buffy straightened up, suddenly alert. And_ that _was what he dared to call love?_

 _"Yes, please," Drusilla commented excitedly. "I like that game, much more."_

 _Buffy tried to hide the small shiver that ran down her spine and her hands clasped around the chains binding her. The tought of Drusilla being set loose while she remained attached..._

 _"Just...give me something," Spike said, a hint of pleading in his voice. "A crumb. The barest smidgen... Tell me maybe, someday, there's a chance."_

 _Not without a soul, budy. Jesus, he_ was _insane. Poets to begin with often had a loose screw, vampires were definitely all off their rockers, but clearly having spent a century at Drusilla's side had made him totally nuts. Why did she always have to attract basket-cases or jerks? What did it say about her? Spike's words from a couple of days back came up to her mind._

You keep making notches in the headboard but eventually they get up out of the bed and run off, don't they? Maybe that's your problem, maybe you push them away. Or is it the other? Maybe you cling too much. Or maybe your beauty's fading. Or maybe you just don't hold their interest.

 _Boiling inside, Buffy compelled herself not to glare at Spike, keeping the anger hidden beneath the surface. Instead she looked seductively at him, lips parting as if about to make a big revelation. He moved right up close to her, hope gleaming in his eyes all of a sudden. "Spike..." she whispered. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious."_

 _It took a second before the meaning of her words dawned upon him. "Wha...?" The look on his face went from hopeful, to confounded, and finally to extremely aggravated. He stormed away from her, seething, hurled the stake against the cave's wall and bellowed in anger._

 _When he whirled around his face was a mask of infinite exasperation._

 _"WHAT...THE BLEEDING HELL...IS WRONG WITH YOU..._ BLOODY _WOMEN ? !"_

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"Why did you let that Glory hurt you?" Buffy asked, feeling stupid as she was still impersonating the exasperatingly cheerful Buffy-bot. Af if she was ever talking like that..._

 _Spike's covered-with-cuts head was hanging low, bleached hair in disarray. "She wanted to know who the key was," he mumbled through cracked lips._

 _"Oh, I can tell her," Buffy chirped. She started to walk away with a spring in her steps. "And then you-"_

 _"No!" Spike stopped her, before coughing and heaving. Damn, that hell-bitch had really damaged him. "You can't ever," he went on firmly once he'd gotten his breath back. "Glory never finds out."_

 _"Why?" She tried to sound as naive as possible._

 _He sighed. "'Cause Buffy," he explained softly, "the other, not so pleasant Buffy... anything happened to Dawn, it'd destroy her. I couldn't live, her being in that much pain... Let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did."_

 _Buffy could feel her bot-facade dissolving, and her heart sank in pity and sympathy for the vampire sitting bloodied before her. Even without a soul to help him care and discern what was right from wrong, he was trying. Trying to do the right thing, for her. In his own twisted way most of the time, but still... He would have endured endless torture and death for her and her sister. She leaned forward and delicately pressed her lips to his, trying not to hurt him. He deserved that much._

 _Spike gently kissed her back at first but he pulled away after a couple of seconds and frowned. She held his gaze. Was it the texture, the scent, or the warmth that had given her away? Probably all three. But in all events Spike had figured it out and was staring at her in amazement, eyelids puffy from the beat up but blue gaze slowly melting. There was no need to pretend now. Buffy had the information she'd needed. Spike hadn't talked. Her sister was safe, thanks to his loyalty. She headed for the crypt's door._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"The weapons are in the chest by the TV," Buffy instructed as she entered her house, leaving the front door opened for Spike. "I'll grab the stuff upstairs."_

 _"Uh, Buffy..."_

 _She turned back to him, hand already on the banister. He was still outside, looking slightly embarrassed and he lifted a hand, as if touching some invisible wall between them. She frowned at him, not getting why he hadn't followed her into the hall._

 _"If you wanna just hand them over the threshold..."_

 _Finally she understood. The revoked invitation. "Come in, Spike," she said gently._

 _Clearly not having expected this answer, his eyes lit up with pleased surprise and he cautiously stepped into the house, like he was afraid some mystical force was about to throw him out again any moment. "Mmm. Presto. No barrier," he noted, giving her a small smile, obviously honored by her new-found trust in him. They gazed into each other's eyes for an instant but Spike quickly roused himself up, walking into the living room, and Buffy closed the door behind him. "Hum, I won't bother with the small stuff," he said, opening the chest. "Couple of good axes should hold off Glory's mates, while you take on the lady herself."_

 _Buffy watched him from the living room's threshold where she stood. "We're not all gonna make it. You know that," she said, stating the obvious._

 _"Yeah," he nodded after a second. Then he traipsed over to her with a double-headed axe in each hand. "Hey, I always knew I'd go down fightin'," he jested, huffing a laugh._

 _"I'm counting on you," she replied, dead serious. "To protect her."_

 _His expression grew more earnest. He knew what she meant. Spike was strong and devoted to Buffy and to Dawn by extention. She needed to know he would be there for her sister if anything happened to her. "Till the end of the world," he swore. "Even if that happens to be tonight."_

 _She swallowed, some tiny part of the weight on her shoulder being lifted off. "I'll be a minute," she muttered, heading for her room._

 _"I know you'll never love me," he threw after her. She paused halfway up the stairs and turned around. She'd never seen that look in his eyes before. Esteem, honesty, and...love? "I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man. And that's..." He let the words hanging, but again they didn't need to speak to understand each other, his gaze was saying it all._

 _He'd come a long way. Accepting the fact that she couldn't give him what he wanted, but yet willing to fight at her side in spite of it. Yes there was the chip, but it couldn't explain everything... It seemed the scoobies and herself were rubbing off on him, turning him into a more respectable vampire, if that was possible. A vampire capable of selflessness._

 _Nevertheless Angel had ripped her heart apart. Riley had abandoned her. She'd lost her mother. She'd been given a sister but she might lose her as well pretty soon. Buffy couldn't afford to let anyone else into her heart. Every person she felt for, she put in danger. And it was making her weak, she didn't have time to worry about them._

 _The Slayer couldn't love, no matter how hard Spike was trying to change for her._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _All hell broke loose around him. Massive bolts of dark energy arched from the portal above, tearing through the town. The ground shook and split in half just under Spike, forcing him to roll over so he wasn't swallowed into the ground. They'd lost. He'd failed to keep his promise, he'd failed to protect Buffy's sister, and now they were all going to die._

 _Except...they didn't. Somehow the portal stopped expanding, on the contrary it suddenly shrunk upon itself and disappeared entirely with an almighty thunder, just at the break of dawn. Spike labouriously pushed himself to his feet, a hand to his stomach. He winced in pain, feeling like at least half the bones in his body were shattered. What had happened? He'd been persuaded the end had come. Had... Had Lil' Summers... Oh God, if Dawn had died... No, she couldn't have. Buffy would never have allowed it. The Slayer must have pulled off some genious, last-minute move- like heroes always did- and saved the day._

 _He trudged forward, limping, searching for the others through the billowing dust and the soft light of daybreak from which he would soon need to find shelter. First he spotted Xander, carrying Anya in his arms, and a tiny part of him wondered if Demon Girl was alright. Then Willow and Tara, arms wrapped around each other, each supporting the other. Then Giles standing alone. And finally Spike saw what they were all looking at._

 _His unbeating heart was ripped out of his chest, knees buckled, and he fell to the ground._

 _For Buffy was lying over the rubbles, lifeless. Spike grasped the terrible truth as he stared in horror. She_ had _saved the day, by giving her life in place of Dawn's. Summers' blood had closed the portal after all._

 _He'd tried to kill this woman so many times, he couldn't remember all of them. He'd hated her and craved her, then loved her and fought for her. And now, head in his hands, wrenching sobs poured out of him uncontrollably. The soulless vampire wept for his fallen Slayer._

* * *

Thanks for reading. And remember, review is love :-)


	3. Words As Weapons Sharper Than Knives

Chapter title: Devil Inside **-** London Grammar (originally by INXS).

* * *

 _Spike burst inside the Summers' lobby. "Dawn! Dawn! Are you there?" he called out anxiously._

 _"I'm here," Lil' Bit answered from the first floor after a second._

 _He breathed out a loud sigh of relief and shut the front door, not too gently. "Thank God!" he exclaimed when she appeared up the stairs, apparently unharmed. But now that he knew she wasn't in some Hellion's stomach, reassurance morphed into anger. "You scared me half to death! Or more to death... You- I could kill you!" He scolded, hands shaking with emotion._

 _She slowly walked down the stairs, doe-eyed, surely trying to soften him. "Spike..."_

 _"I_ mean _it!" he went on, "I could rip your head off one-handed and drink from your brain stem," he said menacingly, extending a hand toward her like he was about to put his words into action. But of course his hand dropped to his side. Hell would freeze over before he'd harm a hair on that Summers' head. But seriously what was wrong with the girl?! How the bleeding hell was he supposed to protect her if she kept giving him the slip like that? Dawn was the only reason he hadn't let himself burn in the sunlight after Buffy... After she... Gah! Next time he would cuff Nibblet to the bike, that was what he'd do!_

 _"Look," she said softly once she'd reached the last step, turning around to look at the Buffy-Bot which was following her down._

 _"Yeah?" he scoffed. "I've seen the bloody bot before. Didn't think she'd patch up so-"_

 _He stopped in mid-sentence, abruptly falling silent. He'd seen the bot, completely dismantled, not an hour before that. The Buffy-Bot had a heartbeat, mechanical heart implanted, but there was something the robot had always lacked: Buffy's unique scent. He'd been too knackered after his little stay at Glory's to realise it when Buffy had tricked him into thinking she was the bot. But now... Buffy's scent was in the house. The_ real _Buffy. Sultry, warm, appealing,... He would have recognized it among thousands. And it wasn't just the smell, it was the look in her eyes while she slowly climbed down the stairs. The Buffy-Bot had never made him feel dizzy with want with a single look._

 _He was vaguely aware Dawn was speaking in the background, but the words didn't reach him. He couldn't stop staring in disbelief at the woman in front of him, mouth hanging slightly open. She couldn't... She just couldn't be real. At some point he would wake up and realise it was yet another dream..._

 _His dream Buffy suddenly broke eye contact when she realised her white shirt was partly opened and she began buttoning it up. He hadn't even noticed. But... why would_ dream _buffy do that? It felt like something_ real _Buffy would do. And he finally started to accept it. Buffy Summers... Buffy Summers had been brought back to life. Somehow._

 _"Spike?" Dawn tried to rouse him from his daze. "Are you okay?"_

 _"I'm..." he breathed, still stunned. "What did you do?" he asked in wonder, his body starting to fill up with some overwhelming, unstoppable happiness._

 _"Me?" Nibblet asked with a small voice. "Nothing..." She sounded like Spike felt. Happy but very confused._

 _Buffy clutched the top of her shirt closed, and her green eyes slowly slid up to look at him again, guarded, like some kind of wild animal, keeping at a distance._

 _"Her hands," Spike remarked outloud, only now noticing that her knuckles were all bloody. He knew he'd smelled blood..._

 _Buffy immediately looked down and lowered her aforementioned hands, hiding them behind her back, looking self-conscious._

 _"Um, I was gonna fix them," Dawn said. "I don't know how they got like that..."_

 _"I do," Spike answered, the realisation hitting him. "Clawed her way out of a coffin, that's how," he explained. "Ain't that right?" he asked Buffy, trying to connect with her somehow._

 _She didn't look at him when she replied, but she did reply. "Yeah," she said quietly, "that's what I had to do."_

 _Spike slightly nodded. "Done it myself." He still felt dazzled, especially now that he'd heard her voice, but he suddenly realised his searching, loving looks were probably one of the reasons why she seemed so ill-at-ease, so he snapped out of it. "Um, we'll take care of you," he offered softly, "C'mere." He extended an arm toward her but she started foward, and he didn't force the touch. "Get some stuff. Mercurochrome, bandages," he said, giving Dawn instructions before he followed her sister into the living room._

 _"Kay'," Nibblet agreed behind him._

 _Buffy settled down on the couch and he sat on the coffee table, facing her. He tentatively took her wounded hands in his and she let him. She was real. He could feel her, he could touch her... He gazed up into her eyes. He wanted to laugh for hours at length, to squeeze her into his arms and bury his nose in her hair... But she looked like any wrong, too abrupt movement or word would send her running off into the night._

 _"How long was I gone?" she asked._

 _Spike's chest constricted with emotion. God it was good to hear her voice... "Hundred forty-seven days yesterday," he solftly replied without hesitation. "Uh... A hundred forty-eight today. Except today doesn't count, does it," he added with a smile. "How long was it for you...where you were?" he dared to ask when she didn't respond._

 _He tried to read her face, tried to glimpse something behind her apathetic expression. She seemed so on edge, who knew what she'd had to endure..._

 _"Longer," she murmured._

 _"I've got the stuff," Dawn interrupted, coming inside the room._

 _Then the front door burst open and the scoobies rushed inside, ruining the moment._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"_ This _is gonna be great," Buffy declared for the fourth time in the day, swallowing down her shot of whiskey in one big gulp. "Bwwaah!" she exclaimed in disgust, shuddering, as the potent liquid burned her throat._

 _The first three times she'd said this sentence, it'd turned out not to be great at all. Buffy really sucked at everything she ever tried to do. University, jobs,... Maybe she should just charge her Slaying services to the council. After all, they were paying Giles, huh..._

 _Spike, who was seated at the other end of the coffin they were currently on, drunk up his own shot-glass without making a sound. How could men_ like _to drink liquors like this? Men...and vampires...males._

 _"Life is stupid," Buffy blurted, head swimming with every move._

 _"I have a dim memory of that, yeah," the vampire agreed, putting his glass down on the coffin. "And I didn't figure you were here cadging my whiskey 'cause life's all full of blood and peaches."_

 _"There's this thing..." she started to explain, "Someone's doing stuff to me. Messing up my life... Except that it was kinda pre-messed already," she chuckled ironically looking down into her empty glass. "You know, with school, and jobs. Pretty bad even without the evil."_

 _"So you, uh, just what? Gonna let this whoever play you till it figures out what kills you?" Spike asked, dubious._

 _She shrugged. "Giles's working on it," she mumbled, picking up his flask again and unscrewing the lid._

 _"Oh good!" he ironized, "'Cause Giles wields the mighty force of library books."_

 _"You'd do bed'er?" she challenged, trying to sound cheeky and failing._

 _"Damn right," he replied, giving her a pointed look. "I'd hit the demon world," he said, moving his leg around the coffin so that he straddled it. Buffy filled up both their glasses, trying not to think too much about the sexy beast sitting astride the coffin before her. "Ask questions, throw punches," he went on, "find out what's in the air. Mm? It's fun too."_

 _"Ts'not my kind of fun," she slurred, smiling._

 _"Yeah, it is," he affirmed, blue eyes boring into hers. "And your life's gonna get a lot less confusing when you figure that out."_

 _Gee, when had he gotten this hot? Had he always been this hot? Cos yeah...he looked...hoooot. Hotty hot hot._

 _"You have haaad so sho much to drink at this point, I am cuttin' you off." She was spluttering to herself, yet she drained her glass again, and so did Spike. "Bweeeaahuhhahuu!" Uuugh...this was_ really _disgusting._

 _She glanced at the two Spikes before her, blinked, and realised that the lone Spike sitting there was gazing at her fondly, as if her alcohol face was somewhat adorable. She'd always known he had pretty strange tastes..._

 _"You're not a schoolgirl," he said. She wanted a refill but the flask was nearly empty and she only got to fill half of her glass. "You're not a shop girl. You're a creature of the darkness. Like me."_

 _She looked up at him. No she wasn't like him, she wasn't a murderer. She wasn't a creature of the darkness, but clearly she'd lost her light since she'd come back. Left it somewhere in heaven._

 _Spike was the only one who was getting her now... The only one who wasn't stealing worried glances at her all the time like she had turned into some kind of freak. He was looking at her like he understood... And that couldn't be right...right?_

 _"Try on my world," he suggested invitingly. "See how good it feels."_

 _Oh, she bet it felt good. Pretty, pretty good. Sexy tempting devil... Clearly he was after her soul, trying to turn her to the dark side. Evil Darth Spike._

 _"There're drinks in your world?" she asked with a little voice, hopeful._

 _It won her the most beautiful grin in return._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Crickets sang around Buffy as she strolled between the moonlit tombstones, patrolling alone, mulling over her very fucked up life. She'd been lost in her thoughts for a while, legs kept on going foward on their own, when her Slayer senses picked up something. The faintest brush of feet moving stealthily over the grass behind her. She spun around in a heartbeat, stake held up in the air, ready to slay._

 _Spike jumped back a little, eyes narrowing at her stake. Oh great... Exactly the vampire she did_ not _want to see._

 _"Can we talk?" he asked, cautious._

 _"Vocal-cord-wise, yes," she quipped. "With each other? No." She whirled around again before he could answer._

 _"We have to talk," he insisted._

 _Buffy clenched her hands but stopped walking, sighing and looking up. "About what?"_

 _"We kissed, Buffy."_

 _"So?" she tossed the word like she couldn't care less, and resumed walking._

 _She heard him follow her and nearly bristled with annoyance._

 _"We... we kissed, you and me. All 'Gone With The Wind', with the rising music, and the rising... music, and what was that, Buffy?"_

 _"A spell?" Duh._

 _The spell was to blame, obviously. She was the Slayer_ _in white, and he was a vampire_ _in black. And not just any vampire, but a vampire famous for his cruelty and his ruthlessness. He'd slaughtered_ orphanages _, for crying out loud! And what he'd done for Dawn and her, didn't even start to make up for it. Especially because he'd done it for all the wrong reasons, because of the chip and the fact that he wanted to get into her pants apparently.  
_

 _"Oh, don't get all prim and proper with me," he grumbled, speeding up so he could stand in her way, forcing her to halt again. "I know what kind of girl you really are," he said, with his naughty little playful smirk. "Don't I?"_

 _She stared at him stonily, his tone of voice making her feel all dirty, and_ not _in a good way. "What we did is done," she replied harshly. "But I will never kiss you, Spike." She could see the hurt settling down on his face, but she kept going. William the Bloody deserved a little pain. "Never touch you_ ever _,_ ever _again."_

 _And next thing she knew she'd thrown herself at him, pinning him to the ground beneath her, so he wasn't hit by the stake she'd seen flying in his direction. Saving his life._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Spike landed a punch to Buffy's jaw, finally able to strike her without being blinded by a searing migraine. Because it seemed she wasn't quite human anymore, according to his chip. Pissed off, she gave it back tenfold, hitting him twice in the face with as much strength as she could. She didn't have to hold back now, he wasn't a helpless creature anymore. Not with her anyway. When she saw the infuriating grin plastered on his face she thrusted her palms against his chest, pushing him hard, and he stumbled back against a cupboard. As soon as he'd straightened up again a powerful front kick sent him flying into what looked like an ancient living room, and he crashed on the floor, body rolling around on the dusty hardwood._

 _She strode after him and heard him laugh as he sprang back to his feet. He sounded like he was having a blast, being able to give vent to his bitter frustration at last. "Poor little lost girl," he sniggered, leaping to grab the chandelier overhead. He swang it forward and kicked her with both feet, knocking her to the ground. "She doesn't fit in anywhere. She's got no one to love..."_

 _He was closing in on her again but she swiftly got onto her feet, grabbed him, and hurled him into the staircase that used to lead to a now-nonexistent first floor. His solid vampire body hit the wooden handrail and it burst into a cloud of splinters._

 _"Me? I'm lost?" she mocked him, relishing the fire coursing through her muscles. "Look at you, you idiot!" He gave her a feral look in response to the insult and rolled off the stairs, trying to stand up again. "Poor Spikey. Can't be human, can't be a vampire. Where the hell do you fit it?!"_

 _With a snarl his fist sailed to the empty spot her face had been just before she'd ducked. She punched him in the stomach, knoching the air out of his lungs, and threw him around the room again, smashing him into the old brick fireplace this time._

 _"Your job is to kill the slayer," she provokingly reminded him as she walked toward him. "But all you can do is follow me around making moon eyes."_

 _"I'm in love with you," he husked out, voice dark and low, bracing himself up from the rubbles._

 _Uh! Love... This was toxic, this was madness, this was exhilarating. She hadn't been able to let loose like this since she'd come back from the dead. All the emotions that had been bottled up inside, she could finally let out. The pain and rage were making her feel alive, and it was still better than feeling sorry for herself. She was aware of every single nerve ending in her body, and she loved it. "You're in love with_ pain _," she kept advancing until she was spitting the words at his face. "Admit it. You like me because you enjoy getting beat down. So, really, who's screwed up?"_

 _"Hello! Vampire!" Temper boiling and dark eyes glaring, he attacked again. She easily blocked the blow, countering with a sharp jab to his face. His head jerked back but he quickly recovered and gripped her upper arms. "I'm supposed to be treading on the dark side!" he growled before throwing her against a wall, her body leaving a big dent in the plaster. "What's your excuse? !"_

 _They began throwing combination after combination at each other, spinning, pouncing, punching, kicking, rolling, parrying, neither of them keeping the upper hand long enough to end the fight. They were just too well matched. Two titans slowly destroying the house around them._

 _At some point Spike managed to break through Buffy's defenses and smashed her against the stairs with an iron-grip hold on her jacket's collar. They exchanged a couple a punches again, Spike last elbow jab hard enough to make her grunt. He pulled her upright. "I wasn't planning on hurting you," he said half seriously, then a smirk broke through, "much."_

 _"You haven't even come close to hurting me," she groaned, trying to free herself. Her skin was burning, her muscles aching and tensing more and more, she felt like she was about to explode._

 _"Afraid to give me the chance?" he challenged._

 _This time she managed to break his hold and pushed him hard against the closest wall. It caved in slightly where his body hit and cracks slithered up toward the ceiling. She was on him again in an instant, gripping his duster and pinning him against the wall._

 _Spike nearly bared teeth, demon rubbing not far from the surface. "You afraid I'm gonna-"_

 _She shut him up with a rough kiss, lips crashing onto his without warning. For a second he kept his eyes opened, utterly taken aback, but passion prompty replaced his stupefaction and he fiercely kissed her back, his arms tightly wrapping around her frame._

 _While the house was gradually falling apart around them he slammed her into another wall, sliding the silk of his tongue between her lips. They moved about some more, avoiding the pieces of ceiling that were collapsing, until she pushed him against a large pillar which was still standing. A mad-hot heat built between them, her mind clouded over, unable to think straight anymore. Her hands fumbled with the buckle of his belt until she jerked it out of the loops and cast it away on the floor, then made for his zipper. Mouth still fastened on hers he hiked her long leather skirt up her thighs, lifted her against him, ripped her panties_ _to shreds, and it wasn't long before she lowered herself onto him, taking him inside her._

 _His air left him in a hiss, and they stared into each other's smoldering eyes for a moment, feeling ice and fire fuse together, the murderous rage they'd felt toward one another mere moments before completely consumed by lust. She started to move but he quickly turned them around so that he was pressing her into the pillar and she could wind her legs around his waist. With devouring need and fevered abandon, he rocked his hips into hers, reveling in the pleasure burning in his guts, planting open mouth kisses along her collarbone all the while. One hand gripping the pillar's angle above her head for support, the other clutching locks of his hair, she arched her neck backward, giving him access._

 _Their union was wild, carnal, primal. Like it had been meant to be since forever but should never have been indulged at the same time. Stomach tightening and teech clenching, he was all she knew, his body and his lips, his scent and his heated grunts... She just let herself burn, burn, burn..._

 _The house loudly creaked and rumbled, disintegrating. Buffy threw her arms around her lover's neck and they both fell backward, breaking through the wooden floor and landing heavily onto the basement's floor a level lower among the dust and debris. Still connected and panting, she rode him and he followed her rhythm as the whole house finally collapsed around them._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. "Lame."_

 _"What?" he replied innocently._

 _"You. Making up excuses." She went over to the sink, picked up the frying pan Red had been using and placed it on top of the pile of dirty dishes._

 _"Oh, don't flatter yourself, luv," he said, slowly walking around the kitchen island to go to her. "Bloody fond of that lighter."_

 _She turned around to glare at him, hands braced on the counter's edge behind her. "_ Stop _trying to see me. And stop calling me that."_

 _He closed the distance between them, eyes sparkling and smile hiding behind his lips. Because she looked so bloody cute when she pretended to be angry. "So, um... What should I call you then?" he asked gently. "Pet?" he leaned in even closer, crooked smile perking up. "Sweetheart?" His left hand came up, fingers smoothing a lock of her hair. "My, uh...little goldilocks?" Her lips parted and he could hear her heart speeding up. That sweet little drumming in her chest spurred him on, right hand joining the left to caress her hair. "You know I love this hair. The way it bounces around when you-"_

 _She suddenly grasped a spatula that had been lying on the counter and tried to slap his face with it. Little bundle of nerves, this Slayer of his. He caught her wrist in mid-swing. "Uh-uh-uh," he chided, a sly smile on his lips. "This flapjack's not ready to be flipped," he said, lowering his free hand._

 _"What the hell is that supposed to-" The end of her sentence turned into a soft sigh of pleasure when he rubbed his fingers against her crotch, applying just the right amount of pressure on her jeans. She gazed up at him through her lashes, her eyes molten green, and unconsciously licked her lips. "Stop that," she whispered. But her eyes begged 'please, keep going', undermining her feeble complaint, and it sent a lick of heat spiraling through the vampire's stomach._

 _"Good Godfrey Cambridge, Spike!"_

 _Buffy jumped, hair whipping around when they both looked over at Xander, who was standing in the doorway and staring at them. She immediately smacked Spike's arm away from her and wrenched her wrist free._

 _"You're still trying to mack on Buffy? Wake up already, never gonna happen!" Xander exclaimed while she put the spatula on the dish rack, took a step back, and smoothed her hair away from her face, trying to regain some composure. "Only a complete loser would ever hook up with you," Xander went on, and Spike smothered the urge to chuckle._

Already _happened mate. Hadn't the carpenter have a crush on Buffy when they where in highschool? He would really eat his heart out if Spike told him just how much he was missing. Slayer being a wild animal in bed and all... She would have broken the poor thing._

 _Buffy fidgeted next to him, obviously not liking Xander's remarks. And it wasn't over yet. "Well, unless she's a simpleton like Harmony, or a- or a nut sack like Drusilla..." Both babes, Spike thought. Even if yes, Harm_ was _stupid, and Dru_ was _nuts._

 _"Hey!" Buffy cut in, trying to keep a light tone in her voice. "You really need to get Dawn off to school. Let's go...go fetch her, okay?" She fumbled, walking over to Xander, placing a hand on his back and guiding him out of the room. "You can let youself out, right Spike?" she added, not turning back._

 _He just gazed at her back, smirk playing over his lips and brows rising toward his hairline._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _A drawn out-sigh slipped from Buffy while the social worker strutted away from the front porch. She was leaning against the door frame with one hand, her other hand holding the still-opened front door, head hung low._

 _She'd come back for this? Buffy had saved the world, sacrifying her life for her sister's, and that was how the universe was rewarding her? By taking Dawn away from her? Unemployed, failing college, eaten up by mixed feelings, stalked by a vampire, witness of her best friend's descent down a very dangerous and slippery path..._

Immediate probation. Stripped of you sister's guardianship. _The words gnawed at her heart as she closed the door, her throat tightening._

 _"Didn't go well, huh?"_

 _She turned around, lips pressing together. Him again. He'd made things worse. Now Kroger believed Buffy was screwing some weird punk with 'issues' in her spare time. Which wasn't so far away from the truth. Her life truly was a mess if the only being who seemed to be able to relate to her was a psycho vampire..._

 _"Why won't you go?" she sighed. From my house, from my life, from under my skin._

 _A flicker of surprise crossed his face. "I just thought you'd want-"_

 _"Get_ out _of here!"_

 _Cold anger darkened his features all of a sudden and he lunged foward, slamming his hand against the door next to Buffy's head and glaring at her, bringing his face just mere inches away from hers. Not such a good idea to play Hot and Cold with him. Buffy's lips parted with surprise but she stood otherwise frozen against the doorframe, unable to move under his steel-blue gaze._

 _Yet when he plunged his hand into the front pocket of her jeans she gasped, and couldn't help wiggling a bit, heat surging up between her legs instantly. He pulled his lighter out of her pocket and held the Zippo in front of her face as a clear evidence of her lie. She'd told him she hadn't seen his lighter, when in fact it'd been in her pocket all along, just so she could have something of his on her. And now he knew that._

 _"Just getting what I came for, luv," he said darkly, lips nearly brushing hers before he spun around and strode away. "So long, goldilocks."_

 _She exhaled shakily, tears pricking the back of her eyes, and then stormed off as well._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _The swing music seemed to fade away as Buffy slowly climbed up toward the balcony, until it was nothing but a muted buzzing in the back of her mind. A couple drifted down the stairs, sliding past her without a glance, as if she didn't exist. When she reached the edge, and placed her hands on the railing, the balcony was deserted. She'd driven people away, some kind of dark aura clinging to her presence and repelling humans on a subconcious level._

 _Shrouded in shadows, she let her gaze sweep over the crowd, watching Willow, Anya, and Xander from above, looking at them as they grinned, joked, and danced the night away. So full of life... So alien to her._

 _"You see," a deep, familiar voice sounded behind her. "You try to be with them..." She listened in silence, not looking away from the dancefloor. "But you always end up in the dark..." She felt him behind her, her breathing and heartbeat picking up speed when his fingers closed around the railing, just next to hers. "With me," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. For a few seconds he just stood there, not touching her, silent and invisible, but all her nerves ending were standing to attention, very aware of his proximity. How come he was always around when she was in pain? When she felt miserable? How come he was_ always _around?_

 _"What would they think of you," he resumed, his chest coming in contact with her back. "If they found out... all the things you've done?" His palm brushed her bare shoulder, smooth skin, leather hem and silver ring all caressing her arm from shoulder to elbow, and Buffy swallowed hard, her eyes drifting shut for an instant. He was the voice of harsh truth. Telling her what she already knew, without any filter._

 _She didn't belong. Not anymore, not in this plane of existence. And they all felt it._

 _Buffy slightly stiffened when his hand glided even lower, now stroking past her hip. "Don't," she murmured, eyes staring down into the crowd again, half hoping he would ignore her plea._

 _"Stop me," the vampire challenged her against the shell of her ear, seduction tendrils flowing from him like some kind of heady cologne. He leaned against her, pressing his front to her back, open hand trailing down the length of her skirt before wrinkling it up, the pads of his fingers tracing up the soft skin of her thigh until he cupped her buttock, gestures hidden behind the large leather coat which now enfolded them both._

 _Buffy exhaled a shaky sigh, lips parting and eyelids dropping again, melting inside, and she pushed back, grinding against the growing bulge in the front of his jeans, unable to stop herself. He rested his forehead against the side of her head, breathing into her hair, one hand popping open the button and pulling down the zipper of his pants, the other sailing over her outer thigh, then inner thigh, and finally slipping inside her panties. Anyone could walk up on them at anytime. Anyone could look up into the shadows above the dancefloor. But she didn't care._ This _she could relate to. She wasn't part of the superficial merriment down there, but she was a part of this. She understood his desire because she felt it as well. Her flesh was on fire, her insides ablaze, and she let him tug her panties down just enough for him to push himself inside her with a long, strong thrust, entering her from behind._

 _The Slayer and her vampire lover both tensed then relaxed with a sigh of pleasure, she felt his breath brush against her neck, and her walls slightly quivered around his cool length. Her knuckles turned white around the railing as she waited for him to move._

 _"No," he muttered, his chest rumbling against her back. "Don't close your eyes. Look at them." She obeyed, her green eyes fluttering open and her gaze finding her oblivious friends amongst the dancers as he began to rock against her in long leisurely strokes. "That's not your world," his deep voice cooed, sin incarnated, "you belong in the shadows... with me."_

 _He couldn't go all the way inside in this position but the sensation was still exhilarating, and he rubbed his deft fingers against her at the same time, pleasuring her in and out, sending delectable shivers down her spine. "Look at your friends," Spike went on between sighs. "And tell me... you don't love getting away with this..." A small frown creased the Slayer's brow as she stared down into the crowd, her belly contracting with each thrust, lust pooling in her stomach and trailing down her limbs all the way down to her toes, slowly coming undone. "Right under their noses," he finished, dipping his head to lay a lingering kiss on her shoulder._

 _Unwilling to think about whether or not he was right about this, she eventually closed her eyes again and leaned her head back onto his shoulder, enabling him to graze his lips along her jawline. Her hand came up to wrap around the nape of his neck and she abandoned herself into his arms, moving with him in the dark, wallowing in this delirously sweet and shameful oblivion._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _She let her gaze travel from his mussed up hair, along the sharp contours of his face, down his chest and partly unbuttoned shirt- pale skin standing out against the black fabric- then back up again and locked on his bedroom eyes._

 _"Tell me you love me."_

 _He looked pleasantly surprised. "I love you. You know I do," he said gently._

 _He sounded like he meant it. He probably believed it. It wasn't making it real for all that unfortunately. She took a step closer to him. "Tell me you want me."_

 _"I always want you," he whispered._ That _she believed was true at least. Some lusty gleam appeared in his eyes. "In point of fact-"_

 _"Shut up," she cut him off softly, voice slightly wavering, before she wrapped an arm around his neck, lay down on the stone couch, and pulled him on top of her._

 _She was breathing hard, hands trembling as she unbuttoned his shirt, and he was gentle in his movements in return, surely mistaking her shakes for some feverish desire. She slipped her hands inside his shirt and dragged it down his arms, palms stroking his smooth skin, and her eyes closed just before his lips molded over hers._

 _She needed to forget everything else. To just focus on his touch, on his smell, on his taste, on the way he was making her feel. Drown in him..._

 _Forget._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"It's over," Buffy said calmly, a neutral expression on her face._

 _His lips twitched into a small smile. He strode over some charred rubble and stepped into the light coming from the crypt's ground floor, all the lamps down in the underground having been blown to bits. "I've memorized this tune, luv. Think I have the music sheet. Doesn't change what you want."_

 _"I know that. I do want you." He seemed slightly confused by her admission. "Being with you..." she hesitated, "makes things...simpler. For a little while."_

 _"I don't call five hours straight a little while," he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but not quite managing to hide the tinge of concern in his voice._

 _"I'm using you."_

 _Again, a certain amount of surprise passed over his face, only this time it was clearly mixed with apprehension. She was just stating facts he already knew, but she'd never said it outloud before. She was composed, collected, much more serious than usual. Maybe that was what clued him, this time it wasn't just hot air blowing._

 _When Riley had walked in on them... And especially when it'd turned out that the demon black market dealer they'd been looking for was actually Spike... She'd felt swamped with shame. Spike was still Spike. He would_ always _be Spike. He was never going to change. He'd do something nice for her, and the next day he'd concoct some stupid scheme again._

 _Yes she wanted him. Sometimes she wanted him so much it hurt. He would give her that look, or bite his lip, or tilt his head, or just murmur something in her ear with that amazing voice of his, and she would feel herself melt, give in. He could be mouthwateringly desirable when he wanted to, as if he was part vampire part incubus, and he'd made her feel things she would never have imagined her body could feel._

 _But he'd just become a sexual outlet for her, and she needed more than that. She needed someone she could love, someone she could trust, someone she could be proud of. After everything she'd been through, she just wanted to feel at peace, happy... And 'the Doctor' couldn't give her that. With him it would always be pure, destructive lust and egoistic self-gratification._

 _"I can't love you," she said, honest but trying not to be harsh. She didn't want to hurt him, in spite of everything. "I'm just...being weak, and selfish..."_

 _He took a step closer to her. "Really not complaining here." His voice was soft, but she could see the alarm writ large in his eyes._

 _"And it's killing me," she finished, fighting to keep a straight face as his shoulders dropped and a whipped dog look took on his handsome features. "I have to be strong about this," she added, more to herself than to him. "I'm sorry... William."_

 _She turned around, and walked away, leaving him speechless and alone among the debris and ashes._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Squatting atop one of the column which flanked the cemetery's massive front gate, leather coat draping the stone like folded black wings, Spike was watching the strangely fascinating scene unfolding below him, calmly observing his Slayer move as she punched, ducked and spun, figthing two baby vampires at the same time. A hard roundhouse kick sent one of her adversaries crashing head first into the pillar where he was perched and Spike raised an eyebrow as he glanced down. This must have hurt..._

 _Buffy was turning her back on them both, busy with Newbie Two, while Newbie One scrambled to his feet, ready to charge. However the older vampire reached down and hauled him up with one hand before he could bolt forward, effortlessly holding him by his collar about three feet above the ground. The baby vampire let out a strangled growl in protest, limbs flailing in the air, trying to free himself, but unable to break the centenarian vampire's hold._

 _"How you doin'?" Spike asked, a cocky tint in his voice, gazing at the Slayer who struggled on her back, trying to keep Newbie Two's hands away from her neck._

 _"Oh, fine," she replied, voice strained with the effort of holding the vamp off. "You know... Same old, same old."_

 _"Yeah. I could take care of this guy if you want," he offered, indicating the still wiggling vampire he was holding back._

 _"Whatever," she grunted, before kicking Newbie Two off her. "Your call," she added as she gracefully flipped to her feet._

 _"I mean, sure he don't look like much," Spike conceded, ignoring Newbie One's insulted snarl, "but I'd wager he could give you a bit o' nasty. Save you the staking..." Buffy swiftly swept Newbie Two off his feet and he landed on his back. She leaned down over him and put her knee down on his throat. "All you gotta do is-"_

 _"I am_ not _telling my friends about us," she cut Spike off, taking a second to glare at him before she focused her attention on her bucking opponent again._

 _Arctic blue eyes narrowed into irritated slits. "Right. I'll just be dropping him down to you then."_

 _Buffy kept Newbie Two pinned to the ground with her keen, slapping his hands out of the way as he tried to protect his heart. "You want to tell them so badly?" she asked, casting a glance up at her 'ex', "Go ahead."_

 _Her fist sharply sank to Newbie Two's guts, punching out air he didn't need anymore, but it was enough to distract him and she managed to plung her wooden stake deep into his chest. Newbie Two burst into a cloud of ashes and she stood, brushing his remains off her thighs. She took a couple of steps toward Spike, looking up at him, both former lovers utterly ignoring the squirming vamp between them._

 _"You know why?" she went on, confidently holding Spike's gaze as he examined her intensely, head tilting to one side. "I tried to kill my friends, my sister, last week," she reminded him, referring to the little spell that had made her go all wacky for a day. "And guess how much they hate me. Zero. Zero much. So I'm thinking, sleeping with you?" She shrugged like she couldn't care less about the daggers his eyes were currently shooting at her, "They'll deal."_

 _She turned around without waiting for an answer and he looked away in repressed annoyance, letting Newbie One slip through his fingers at last. The baby vamp dropped to the ground and rushed after the Slayer like a well trained pit bull._

 _"In that case, why won't you sleep with me again?" Spike called after her, sounding like a whining child._

 _Newbie One paused just before he'd caught up with the Slayer and looked back at the older vampire, perplexed. "Huh?"_

I wasn't talking to you, you twat.

 _Spike was about to voice this thought but Buffy didn't give him enough time. She whirled around and- while she glared at Spike- drove her weapon into the young vamp's heart, reducing him to dust, ashes drifting to the ground. She turned around once more, her job done._

 _"Because I don't love you," she retorted, walking away without a backward glance._

 _The vampire looked down, a pout settling over his face, her words cutting him more than her stake would have. "Like hell," he mumbled to himself, picking at the rough stone he was sitting on._

 _She was just lying to herself. She couldn't be_ that _passionate when they were shagging and not be in love with him. He loved her, and deep down, she loved him to. Soon she'd realised it, and then she'd come back._

 _She'd come back._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"STOP!"_

 _With this ultimate cry she kicked him away using all her Slayer's might and Spike went flying across the room. He crashed against the wall then grabbed hold of the sink and pulled himself to his feet, ready to go after her again. Yet he was suddenly frozen by the sight in front of him._

 _She'd wrapped shaking arms tight around herself, to close her torn bathrobe. One shoulder bare, eyes red, hair messy, wrists slightly bruised... The look on her face was the worst. Fear, anger, humiliation, and a tiny part of relief._

 _"Ask me again why I could never love you!" she exclaimed, voice thick and trembling._

 _It slowly sank in. The sound of her pleas, of her cries, and the ripping of cloth echoed in his mind. The air became poison, his insides acid. Dread and horror pushed down on him, crushing his mind. He started panting. Not with excitement, but with panic._

 _"Buffy," he breathed. "My God, I didn't-"_

 _"Because I stopped you!" she cried. He stared a her, mortified, as she backed away toward the bathroom door. "Something I should have done a long time ago."_

 _A single tear slid down her cheek, and he wanted to die._

 _He loved her... He almost had... But he never would have... He didn't understand how he could have... He didn't understand why he hadn't._

 _Why did he feel this way? Why did he feel at all? What had she turned him into? It wasn't supposed to be like this... He couldn't stand it anymore._

 _Things had got to change._

* * *

Thanks for reading. And remember, review is love :-)


	4. For A Sinner Like Me

Chapter title: Never Let Me Go **-** Florence and the Machine.

* * *

 _"Tell me what happened," Buffy demanded, striving to sound relatively calm but firm. She was tired of his games, tired of his cryptic answers. Since he'd come back to Sunnydale he'd been acting raving mad. He obviously hadn't been quite alright in the head before, but now he seemed to be Drusilla-level mad._

 _At her feet among the smashed pews, this broken Spike swallowed hard, lost eyes looking at things a sane mind could not see, the self-induced slashes visible on his bare chest- where he'd tried to cut 'it' out- not quite healed yet._

 _"I tried to find it, of course..."_

 _"Find what?" she inquired, tone getting slightly harsher._

 _"The spark," he answered like it was evident. "The missing... The piece that_ fit _," he tried to explain through ragged, shallow breaths. "That would make me fit. Because you didn't want..." His words faded into a quiet sob, and Buffy couldn't tell if he was just anguished or in pain as well. "I can't," he suddenly said, crawling away from her. "Not with you looking." Buffy watched him uneasily as he scrambled up to his feet and blended in with the darkness. An ominous silence filled the air before he spoke again. "I dreamed of killing you."_

 _Her skin crawled with goose bumps at the sound of his haunted voice, her Slayer instincts kicked in, and she picked up a stake-sized piece of wood from the pews' rumbles._

 _"I think they were dreams," he went on, concealed in the dark, his quiet words echoing against the chapel's walls, making him sound like he was everywhere at the same time. "So weak. Did you make me weak?" he asked, tormented. "Thinking of you... Holding myself, and spilling useless buckets of salt over your...ending." He came back into her sight again, the moonlight skimming his evasive silhouette, as he slowly paced the side-aisle flanking the nave where she stood. "Angel. He should've warned me."_

 _Angel's name prickled the nape of her neck, giving birth to a dreadful intuition in her mind, and she slowly lowered her makeshift stake._

 _"He makes a good show of forgetting, but it's here, in me, all the time. The spark." She heard him move behind her as he talked, and all the while some ghost hand slowly squeezed her throat. "I wanted to give you what you deserve. And I got it. They put the spark in me and now all it does is burn."_

 _Her breathing had become uneven, having finally deciphered the meaning behind his confession. "Your soul," she whispered in disbelief._

 _He huffed a disheartened chuckle and she turned around to look at him. "Bit worse for lack of use," he rasped, voice half-strangled._

 _"You got your soul back," she said, as if it could help her accept it. Yet she slightly shook her head in_ _incredulity. "How?"_

 _"It's what you wanted, right?" he asked anxiously. "It's- it's what_ you _wanted, right?" he repeated louder, looking up to the skies. "And- and now, everybody's in_ here _, talking," he ranted, tapping his temples with his fingers and walking around her, toward the apse. "Everything I did. Everyone I... And him... And it... The other, the thing beneath...beneath you. It's here to. Everybody. They all just tell me go...go..." he looked back at her over his shoulder. "To Hell."_

 _Eyes brimming with tears, brows squeezed together, lips trembling, she stared at him in appaled incomprehension. "Why?" she breathed, struggling to get the words out around the lump in her throat. "Why would you do..."_

 _"Buffy, shame on you," he interrupted quietly. "Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be_ hers _. To be the kind of man who would nev-" Voice choked off with emotion once again, he looked down at his feet, shoulders hunched over. "To be a kind of man."_

 _Fat tears blurred Buffy's vision, escaped her unblinking eyes, and rolled down her cheeks. She remembered Anya's words at the Bronze, just moments earlier. 'I can see you'. She couldn't have found a better way to say it. Buffy could see him. For the first time, she could really see William. The second soulful vampire in known history. And the only one who'd_ chosen _this fate. For her. So he could be loved by her._

 _But the moment his soul had been restored, every atrocity the demon inside him had done had hit his conscience, like a train at full speed. His mind was a broken chalice, unable to contain a soul that shone too brightly, driving him into the tortuous depths of insanity._

 _So she cried for him. Because in spite of everything he'd done, in spite of what he'd tried to do, she still cared about Spike, she just couldn't help it. And now she cared even more about William, because he had to carry a burden that wasn't his to bear._

 _"And she shall look on him with forgiveness," the tortured being ahead of her quavered. "And everybody will forgive and love. He will be loved." He was now facing the the 6-foot-tall cross erected in the center of the apse, not once recoiling from the sight. "So everything's okay, right?" He sighed heartbreakingly, embracing the crucifix, his vampire body sizzling but his soul unflinching._

 _"Can we rest now? Buffy... Can we rest?"_

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Buffy kicked the door shut behind her, strode toward the bed, and unceremoniously shove Spike awake, pushing him hard enough for him to fall onto the ground with a loud thud. His eyes flew open and he braced himself onto his elbows, completely disoriented._

 _"Did you kill her?!"_

 _Wearing nothing but his black leather pants, Spike stared at her, flabbergasted. "_ What? _"_

 _"The girl, last night!" she explained, voice whipping the air._

 _She'd trusted him. She'd trusted him and he'd betrayed her. He hadn't changed one bit. How could she have thought, even for one second, that he had?_

 _He groggily groped for the bedlamp's switch. "What girl?" he asked, turning the light on. "What are you talking about?"_

 _"I caught the first act," she said icily. "I missed the curtain call. Did you kill her?" she asked again, anger etched into her face. "Did you turn her? Is she one of your kind now?!"_

 _His brows drew together in confusion. "Di-did you- are you following me?"_

 _"Answer the question!" she all but yelled as he pushed himself up onto his bare feet. "Where is she?!"_

 _"Who knows?" he exclaimed defensively, frown deepening. "I talked to her is all!"_

 _She glared at the shirtless vampire standing before her, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Really? Looked like more than talking to me."_

 _"Well I certainly didn't off her," he scoffed. "Where're you getting this?" he demanded, turning around to grab a T-shirt. "You know I can't..."_

 _"Right," Buffy said, lips pressing together into a seething line. "The chip."_

 _"No, not the chip! Not the chip, dammit!" he countered through gritted teeth, upset. "You honestly think I'd go to the end of the underworld and back to get my soul and then..." He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to compose himself and slightly shook his head, his adam apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Buffy, I can barely_ live _with what I did," he said, voice thick with honesty. "It haunts me. All of it. If you think that I would add to the body count now, you are crazy," he affirmed, slipping his arms into the T-shirt's sleeves._

 _Doubt gnawed at the edge of her mind. She wanted to believe him, she truly did. She hoped with every cell in her body that she was wrong about this... But she knew what she'd seen. And as the Slayer, she had a job to do. A duty. If Spike had fallen off the wagon and was feeding on humans again, he was going to pay the price. "So, what? You just troll the Promenade looking for drunk co-eds 'cause you're hungry for conversation?" she mocked him, refusing to let herself be softened._

 _"Oh, is that what this is?" he half-chuckled, pausing for a second as he was about to loop the T-shirt over his head. "Right."_

 _"What?" she snapped._

 _"You're jealous!"_

 _Her heart hardened even more, blood freezing over in her veins. "Don't play games," she ordered darkly. "Not now."_

 _"Yeah, you saw me chatting up another bird, giving the eye to somebody else," he persisted, finally shrugging into his T-shirt. "Touched a nerve, didn't it?"_

 _"Don't flatter yourself," she replied, holding his gaze and trying her best to keep the wobble out of her voice. She wanted to hit him. So much so that her hand itched. She wasn't sure who she hated more, him for hurting her like this, or herself for letting him._

 _"It_ burns _, huh?" he kept going, twisting the knife. "But you can't admit it, so you trump up some charge about me being back on the juice."_

 _Hands still hidden behind her tightly tucked elbows, she felt her nails digging into her palms. "This vampire I killed told me-"_

 _"Told you what?" he interrupted, bitterness and hurt lacing his voice. "That I go out? Yeah, I talk to people. Women. Talk to them 'cause I can't talk to you," he admitted, his voice suddenly dripping with emotion._

 _"Oh, Spike, save it," she grumbled, eyes flaring in disdain, her calm threatening to snap. How low was he going to go to try to sway her?_

 _"As daft a notion as 'Soulful Spike the Killer' is, it is nothing compared to the idea that another girl could mean anything to me," he swore, vulnerable, his crystal-clear blue eyes harbouring no trace of deception, and this time she didn't find it in herself to lash out at him. "This chip, they did to me," he quavered, pointing a slender finger at his skull. "I couldn't help it. But the soul... I got on my own. For you."_

 _She looked down, her windpipe suddenly no larger than a coffee straw. "I know," she muttered. "But-"_

 _"So, yeah. I go and pass the time...with someone. But that's all it is, it's time. 'Cause God help me, Buffy, it's still all about you," he confessed, the last half of his sentence strangled in his throat._

 _Her lips parted and closed a couple of times, he affected her too much, threatening her control, and she could feel her composure slowly starting to crumble. "Spike, this vampire told me you sired him."_

 _He puckered his brow. "That doesn't mean-"_

 _"He said you killed him. Dumped him in a parking lot somewhere," she accused him, voice getting stronger again. Why would have Webs lied to her? He had nothing to gain from it... Wherease Spike definitely had something to lose._

 _He raised his scarred eyebrow at her. "And you believe him? Vampires aren't-"_

 _"I did follow you last night," she cut him off harshly. "And you know what? You didn't look lonely or casual to me. You looked like you were on the_ prowl _."_

 _"You can't know that!" Spike protested, his features clouding over._

 _"So, then, tell me!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "Tell me what happened. You talked to her, then what?"_

 _"We talked. That's all I remember..."_

 _She stared at him in disbelief. "All you remember?" she slowly repeated, temper boiling under her skin._

 _"I don't know! I go out," he said, pacing around the room, brows knitting together in confusion as if he was on the verge of madness again. "I talk to people or I don't... It's boring. It all bleeds together..."_

 _If all this was a act then he definitely deserved an oscar. "Well, if you seem to forget that much, then-"_

 _"Not that. The taste of human blood._ That _, I'd remember," he assured her, grimly._

 _"You were camped out on the hellmouth talking to invisible people. Recently. How can you be sure of-"_

 _"No!" he snapped, his eyes blazing fire. "You are wrong. You've got an accusation from a pile of dust," he pointed a finger in a random direction, emphasizing his words, "and not a shred of proof."_

 _He looked afraid. Afraid that she might be right somehow. And that scared her more than anything else._

 _"So, I'll get some," she stated, turning around before he could see the tears welling in her eyes._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Buffy rigidly crossed her arms over her chest and stood straight, inflexible. She would not let Spike do this to himself any longer. He could recount all the gory details- true or invented- of the way he'd slaughtered the victims who littered his past, she would_ not _kill him._

 _"Listen to me," she said authoritarily, looking straight into the eyes of the chained up vampire standing before her. "You're not alive because of hate or pain. You're alive because I saw you change. Because I saw your penance."_

 _He made a lunge for her and the chains held him back with a loud rattling sound, the muscles of his arms rippling under his skin, his hands balled into fists. "Window dressing," he lied, eyes so dark they nearly looked black._

 _She hadn't even blinked. She could see what he was trying to do. He was so scared he would hurt someone while being under the influence of the ghost- or demon- that was trying to control him, that he was trying to frighten her. Frighten her enough so she would decide the best thing to do would be killing him._

 _"It'd be easier, wouldn't it, if it were an act," she argued, taking a step closer to him. "But it's not. You faced the monster inside of you and you fought back. You risked everything to be a better man."_

 _"Buffy..."_

 _"And you_ can _be. You are," she affirmed, now inches away from him. "You may not see it, but I do."_

 _Spike had been the only soulless vampire she'd crossed path with who had been capable of selfless- or at least considerate- acts. There had always been good in him. Even without a soul, he'd helped her, he'd cried hor her, he'd kept watching over Dawn, when there was no reason left for him to do so. Even before he started having feelings for her, when Angelus and Drusilla had tried to destroy the world, he had come to her as an ally and had helped her stop them. And he was the one and only vampire who had_ fought _his way through demon's trials to get his soul back. He nearly got killed a dozen of times while doing it, but he'd kept on fighting, because he knew it was the right thing to do._

 _"I do," she repeated softly, gazing into his now hopeful eyes. "I believe in you, Spike."_

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Spike gulped, the parched walls of his throat grinding together like sandpaper, not an ounce of saliva left in his mouth, his tongue dry as bone. The ties over his head were biting into the sore skin of his wrists, his back ached from the prolonged contact with the coarse stone of the cave's wall, and his legs burned from the effort of having kept him upright for hours. A soft sound caught his attention, he cracked his swollen lids open, and he slowly turned his head to the left, every muscle in his body screaming in protest._

 _Another Buffy mirage was standing there, all blond hair and white shirt, an angelic vision, lost in hell. Her hand moved ever so slightly and the dagger she was holding caught the flickering light of the torches._

 _The vampire scoffed. "A... A knife, now, it it?" he muttered, fractured ribs stabbing his side with each word. "What'll... What'll that..." He paused, his head suddenly reeling, threatening to black out any second. "You- you can't hurt me," he asserted, defiant even in his broken state. "You... You're just a bloody figment, you are," he mumbled, what little energy he had left slowly failing him. "You're just a..."_

 _He panted heavily as the vision approached him without a word. He suddenly held his breath and stared at her with puffy eyes. She had a cut in her cheek. The smell..._

 _He watched in confusion as her hand came up and she cut one of his binding. Tapping in strength he didn't know he had left he placed his hand on her shoulder. Corporal. Warm. Real._

 _If he'd had any water left inside him he would have wept with relief. Could it truly be real?_

 _She cut him loose of the second tether, freeing him, and he started to collapse but she caught him, holding him up. He gasped shakily, a dry sob shaking his body at the feeling of her soft skin, and his ancient heart filled with a gratitude so full he thought it would burst. She'd come. She'd truly come for him._

 _She returned his gaze, her green eyes filled with compassion and empathy, and gave him a small comforting smile that warmed him more than sunshine could ever have._

 _"You," he whimpered, putting an arm over her shoulder, leaning on her. His Slayer... His Buffy..._

 _She wrapped her arm around his waist and the two of them, tightly entwined, took a limply step forward, the Slayer guiding her wounded vampire out of this nightmare._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Buffy was curled up on the couch in her living room-_ the _couch...which she finally could bear to touch again- alone and lost in her worried thoughts, until Spike joined her and sank into the cushions next to her. He kept his distance, forearms propped on his thighs, fingers linked together._

 _"Did anybody tell you about what happened around here tonight?" he sighed._

 _"Willow did," she answered quietly, staring into space. "The First is back in the mix."_

 _He took a long breath in. "It, uh, it talked to the little boy. Said it wasn't time for me yet." He turned to look at her and she already knew where he was going with this. And she truly didn't want to hear it. "I should move out. Leave town before it is time for me."_

 _"No," she replied right away, voice still soft but categorical. "You have to stay."_

 _"Nah, you've got another demon fighter now," he disagreed._

 _He still had a lot to learn her about her. "That's not why I need you here."_

 _"Is that right?" he asked after a second, sounding interested. "Why's that then?"_

 _Couldn't he guess? "'Cause I'm not ready for you to not be here," she admitted, before coyly looking down, shying away from his searching gaze. Clearly she'd never faced something like this before and she needed him at her side. Not just as a fighter but as...Spike. Just Spike. In all his complexity._

 _"And the Principal?" he eventually asked, slightly frowning but trying to stay casual. "How's he fit in?"_

 _Her eyes shifted up to meet his again. If Buffy was sure that Spike had been wrong about her- she was_ not _attracted to men who tended to hurt her- she also knew that she would never fall for the guy next door. Or the Principal next door in that case. Not after the boiling passion she'd had a taste of. Not after...him. He'd ruined her. No human male would be able to satisfy her needs now. They were too soft, too breakable, too tame._

 _She didn't say it outloud, but he didn't push for an explanation either._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _"_ _The stage is yours. Cheer me up." Buffy sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up expectantly at Spike._

 _He took a deep breath in. "You're insufferable."_

 _She stared at him for an instant. As far as pep talks went, she'd heard better. "Thank you. That really helped," she ironized, looking away._

 _"I'm not trying to cheer you up," he specified._

 _"What are you trying to say?" Her patience was wearing thin, but she was far too exhausted to really raise her voice. She just wanted to rest..._

 _"I don't know!" he blurted out, touchy. "I'll know when I'm done saying it. Something pissed me off, and I just..." He shifted from one foot to the other as he thought. "'Unattainable.' That's it."_

 _"Fine," she conceded wearily. "I'm attainable. I'm an attain-a-thon. May I please just go to sleep?"_

 _"You listen to me," he said firmly. He kneeled in front of her, duster leather whispering, and gazed up at her with sharp blue eyes, holding her attention. "I've been alive a bit longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine, and done things I prefer you didn't." Buffy's eyes flickered away again and he looked down. "I don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker," he went on quietly, slightly self-conscious. "I follow my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain... So I make a lot of mistakes, a lot of wrong bloody calls," he admitted. "A 100+ years, and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of." He paused, the dark centers of his eyes glowing. "You."_

 _His hand reached out to brush her cheek, but she shrank slightly away, swallowing down the thickness in her throat. What did he see in her? What had he seen that had made him travel around the world, undergo countless torments, so he could deserve her? What was it about her that had made a demon want to seek redemption? She didn't feel worthy of his devotion. She wasn't worth that much suffering._

 _"Hey, look at me," he demanded softly, dropping his hand. "I'm not asking you for anything." His voice was so gentle, she found the courage to look him in the eye again, but her hands fisted in the bed's cover as she fought back tears. "When I say, 'I love you,' it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try..." Buffy took a shaky breath in and felt a tear trickle down her cheek, in spite of all the effort she'd put into trying to hold herself together. His words were warm water filling her chest, melting the icy armor the Slayer had built. "I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are... You're a hell of a woman. You're the One, Buffy," he concluded, his voice filled with fervent intensity._

 _She released the breath she'd been holding in a strangled sigh. Buffy thought of Angel, and how he'd gone all berserk on her and had finally left her. She though of Parker, of the way he'd taken advantage of her naïveté and had then left her. She then thought of Riley, how he couldn't deal with the Slayer part of her until he'd eventually left her._

 _And then there was Spike. The one who still believed in her. The one who would never have left her, come hell or high water. Spike who'd waltzed into her life, to deliver monologues like this one. And that was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her._

 _She swallowed hard, gazing into his poet's eyes. "I don't wanna be the one," she murmured through trembling lips._

 _He gave a light shrug. "I don't wanna be this good looking and athletic. We all have crosses to bear." This prompted a chuckle out her and she sniffed, another tear escaping. She started to lie down, scooting closer to the headboard. "You get some rest now. I'll check in before first light," Spike said, finally agreeing to let her sleep, and heading for the door. "You can decide how you want..."_

 _Her stomach fluttered with disquiet at the thought of him leaving her. "Spike," she called him back, straightening up. "Could you...stay here?"_

 _"Sure," he answered quietly after a short beat. He looked down at the couch, overflowing with crumpled clothes. The people who'd been living here had obviously left in a hurry, like everyone else. "That diabolical old torture device, the comfy chair. It'll do me fine." He slipped out of his duster and stuffed it on top of the couch's backrest._

 _"No..." she said shyly. "I mean here." She moved aside on the bed, making space for him next to her. "Will you just hold me?" she asked, eyes still sparkling with unshead tears._

 _He gazed at her silently for a second but didn't hesitate for long. He slowly came over to the bed and sat down next to her, back propped against the headboard. He looped an arm around her shoulders and she snuggled against his strong chest, sighing, his protective embrace loosening some of the tension in her limbs. His cheek rested on her head, his cool fingers tenderly dug into her hair and massaged her scalp, until she finally fell into sleep, enveloped in his earthy scent._

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Buffy's shoulders dropped a notch as he walked away from her, heading toward the kitchen. She glanced down at the Scythe, disheartened, and for a second she contemplated letting him leave. She had this flamboyant new weapon, forged specifically for her, feeling both powerful and light in her hands. Who cared about a moody vampire's feelings? Not the Slayer, for she had done her duty retrieving the Scythe, and she was satisfied._

 _But Buffy wasn't. Who did he think he was? Telling her he loved her, again, and in the most beautiful way, and then act like the night they'd spent into each other's arms had been nothing but a_ glitch _? He was behaving like some kind of high school prepubescent ass being mean to the girl he liked._

 _"You're a dope," she exclaimed, striding after him._

 _His hand was already on the kitchen's backdoor's handle but he froze, eyes wide with stupefaction. "I'm a_ what _?"_

 _"You're a dope," she repeated, chin high, holding the offended vampire's stare. "An-and a bonehead. And you're shirty."_

 _He looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Have you gone completely carrot-top?!"_

 _She huffed and held up the Scythe. "Do you see this? This may actually help me fight my war. This might be the key to_ everything _. And the reason I'm holding it is because of you. Because of the strength that you gave me last night." He stared at her, crease lines furrowing his brow, mouth hanging slightly opened, but she didn't slow down. "Look, I am tired of defensiveness and- and weird, mixed signals," she ranted on, her earrings clinking against her skin. "You know, I have Faith for that. Let's just get to the truth here, okay? I- I don't know how you felt about last night, but I will not-"_

 _"Terrified," he quietly interrupted, looking away._

 _Her annoyance died out like the air leaking out of a punctured balloon. "Of what?" she asked, hosnestly bewildered._

 _He sighed, glancing around as if it could help him find the right words. "Last night was..." But whatever he was going to say remained suspended in the air when he looked into her eyes. "God, I'm such a jerk. I can't do this."_

 _"Spike..."_

 _"It was the best night of my life," he finally shakily revealed. She stared at him, speechless as she absorbed this, green eyes melting from confused to tender. "If you poke fun at me, you bloody well better use that, 'cause I couldn't bear it," he warned, voice thick and wavering. "It may not mean that much to you, but-"_

 _"I just told you it did," she whispered._

 _He sighed and gave her a half-hearted smile. "Yeah," he said doubtfully, "I hear you say it but..."_

 _But what? She was beginning to come to terms with the way she felt about him, at last, and he didn't believe her? That was just her luck... She should have known things wouldn't be that easy with him. They never were._

 _"I've lived for soddin' ever, Buffy," he went on. "I've done everything. Done things with you I can't spell, but... I've never...been close. To anyone. Least of all, you. 'Til last night. All I did was hold you, watch you sleep," a smile ligthtened his face at the memory. "And it was the best night of my life. So, yeah... I'm...," he sucked in a deep, composing breath, "terrified."_

 _"You don't have to be," she assured him._

 _His head tilted in this interrogativeway she loved so much and his blue eyes narrowed. "Were you there with me?" he asked, softly, hopefully._

 _"I was," she swore, unblinking._

 _"What does that mean?"_

 _Piercing eyes bore into her soul and she had to answer honestly. "I don't know. Does it have to mean something?"_

 _"No," he shook his head. "Not right now," he sighed, tearing his gaze away from her and alleviating the tension between them._

 _"Maybe when..."_

 _"No, let's just leave it," he said, brushing it off._

 _"'kay," she breathed, saddened. Who knew how much time they had left to make things right..._

 _The vampire's lips quirked up in a lopsided smile as he finally opened the kitchen's backdoor. "We'll go be heroes."_

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _When Buffy climbed down the stairs leading into the basement, Spike was apparently taking some frustration out on her boxing equipment._

 _"So... Where's tall, dark and forehead?" he bitterly asked when he saw her, stabilizing the punching bag in front of him._

 _Oh great. After jealous Angel, here came was jealous Spike. "Let me guess," she sighed, "you can smell him?"_

 _"Yeah, that and I also used my enhanced vampire eyeballs to watch you kissing him," he quipped, visibly grouchy._

 _That caught her off guard. Angel had been her first, there would always be a little something between them. But it hadn't meant anything... Just a little welcoming peck on the lips. She squirmed uneasily under his accusing gaze. "It was...a hello," she said awkwardly, trying to pass it off as nothing. And it_ was _nothing really._

 _"Most people don't use their tongues to say hello," he argued, taking a couple of steps toward her. But he thought it over, eyes on the ceiling. "Or I guess they do, but-"_

 _"There were no tongues," she cut in, making him sigh. "Besides, he's gone."_

 _"Oh, just popped by for a quickie, then?" he retorted, apparently not about to let it go._

 _She walked around him with a roll of her eyes. "Good, good. I haven't had quite enough jealous vampire crap for one night." Why did they have to add even more turmoil to an already difficult situation... And how the hell had they managed to hang out together for decades without ripping the other's head off?_

 _"He wears lifts, you know," he tossed as he shuffled past her, heading toward the shelves next to his cot._

 _Buffy crossed her arms, looked over at the punching bag the vampire had been pummeling, and noticed the less than flattering Angel sketch taped there. She couldn't quite hide her smile but she shook her head in disaproval. "You know, one of these days I'm just gonna put you two in a room and let you wrestle it out."_

 _Spike rifled trough the pack he'd picked up from the shelf, looking for a last cigarette which didn't exist. "No problem at this end," he snorted, shooting her a sideways look before crumpling and chucking the empty pack._

 _"Mm, there could be oil of some kind involved," she said dreamily, eyes losing focus as she imagined the scene. Captain Peroxide vs Tall Dark and Forehead..._

 _"Where's the trinket?"_

 _Her mind snapped back to reality and she raised an eyebrow at him as he walked toward her. "The who-ket?"_

 _"The pretty necklace your sweetie-bear gave you. The one with all the power. I believe it's mine now."_

 _Buffy's smile faded and she looked down at the amulet in her hand. "How do you figure?"_

 _"Someone with a soul, but more than human?" he repeated what Angel had said, pulling a 'duh' face. "Angel meant to wear it, means I'm the qualified party." He held out his hand expectantly._

 _She stared at the gem as if she could see its purpose in the reflection of its facet. She had a bad feeling about it. She couldn't pinpoint why exactly, but there were just dark vibes emanating from it. "It's volatile. We don't know-"_

 _"You'll be needing someone strong to bear it, then," he pointed out. "You were planning on giving it to Andrew?"_

 _Maybe she didn't get along with the amulet because it wasn't meant to be hers. Maybe Spike was asking for it because_ he _sensed it was right for him. "Angel said the amulet was meant to be worn by a champion..."_

 _Spike misinterpreted her words and the deflated look that came over his face tugged at her heart. It helped her make up her mind. She stepped closer to him and handed the dark object to him. His eyes shifted up to hers, disappointment turning into pleased wonder, and he slowly reached out for the amulet._

 _He huffed a small laugh, a bashful smile settling on his lips. "Been called a lot of things in my time..."_

 _Buffy smiled back, then slipped her hands into her jeans front pockets and coyly looked down at her feet. "Faith still has my room..."_

 _"Well, you're not staying here!" he protested, an irritated frown having wiped out the honored smile in an instant. "You can't buy me off with shiny beads and sweet talk," he said, waving the amulet in the air. "You got Angel breath. I'm not gonna just let you whack me back and forth like a rubber ball. I've got my pride, you know."_

 _Buffy felt her face crumple at his rejection, and tried to swallow it down. She hadn't expected how much hearing him say something like this would hurt. But now it was her fault, she'd given Angel a tiny little welcome kiss and had ruined everything. That was her punishment, for having taken Spike as granted. "I understand," she muttered, turning around with her tail between her legs, her heart a heavy stone in her chest._

 _But she'd barely gone two steps before Spike stood in front of her, blocking her way. "Clearly you don't, 'cause the whole 'having my pride' thing was just smokescreen."_

 _Her eyes widened and she let out a big sigh out relief. "Oh, thank God."_

 _They both chuckled and affectionately gazed into each other's eyes. "I don't know what I would have done if you'd have gone up those stairs," he said softly, smiling._

 _She reached up to gently cup his cheek in her hand, and smiled back. "Let's not find out."_

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

 _Buffy was facing Spike with a determined glint in her green eyes, pressing a knife to her own throat. And next thing he knew, Summers blood flowed into his mouth._

*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*-X-*-X-*-X-*

* * *

Thanks for reading. And remember, review is love :-)


	5. I Think She Took My Soul

Chapter title: Closer - King of Leon (Ain't that the perfect 'Love-sick Vampire' Song?)

* * *

Spike reared back, stumbling, hands coming up to brush his temples as he tried to think through the intoxicated haze in his mind. The air was thick and hot, saturated with the purest, most enticing scent. Where he was, what he was, what was happening, all of this didn't matter to the vampire anymore. All that seemed real to him was that rich flavor which still coated his tongue. Fire, spice, female... He'd never tasted anything quite like it and it made him feel...great. Really, _really_ great. He licked his lips, dazed by the sheer power contained in that sweet taste, power that was now racing through his veins. His eyes opened to the moonlit darkness, vaguely remembering he was somewhere underground, and his gaze fell upon the woman standing in front of him.

Well, standing, was an overstatement. She was gripping the table's edge behind her, struggling to keep herself upright. Glowing like the center of the universe through his eyes, he let his gaze roam over her shivering body, disheveled blond mane, heavy lids, parted lips, and the look of dazzled pleasure etched on her face. She was radiating heat, her heartbeat roaring in his acute ears. He breathed it into his very soul, her delicous scent, the smell of her skin, her hair, her arousal, and her...blood. Gliding down the long column of her graceful neck, down toward her breasts, still hot and liquid as only a few seconds had passed since he'd sunk his fangs into her.

He was high on her. He couldn't think and he didn't want to try. Her perfect essence was swimming in his guts and he let it rule him. All he knew was that he wanted her, right here, right now.

His body moving faster than his thoughts, his hands had already grabbed her butt, lifted her, and he slammed her onto the table with enough strength to bruise any ordinary woman, but not enough to hurt a Slayer. The amulet dropped to the floor, a chair next to the table toppled over with a loud bang, but the room could have caught fire and neither of them would have noticed. He bent over her, standing between her parted legs, covering her torso with his, losing all inhibitions as he lapped the already closing wound on her throat.

She arched into him, head thrown back, one hand burying itself in his white curls, the other grabbing the table's edge over her head, and he felt her surrender to the dark ecstasy crackling between them. A sharp shudder shot through her when the tip of his tongue skimmed her burning skin, and she unvoluntary tore off a chunk of wood from the table, second hand joining the first one in his hair. His tongue was following the trail of blood down her chest, and before he knew what he was doing he hooked his fingers in the hem of her tank top and ripped the cloth in half like it was paper.

 _The sound of cloth ripping. Buffy's body writhing beneath his. The cold white tiled-floor. The sound of water filling the bathtub. Her begging him to stop..._

Spike violently tore himself away from her, gasping. He staggered back, retreating into the shadows under the stairs, holding his head with both hands. "Oh God, no," he lamented, bile rising in his throat, "no, no, no..."

Buffy was panting, stars dancing behind her closed eyelids, oxygen suddenly scarse, mind reeling from all the memories, from his amourous assault, from the outburst of sensations and emotions he'd triggered in her body, and finally from his very brutal withdrawal... Her eyes fluttered open, she had to blink away her blurry vision, and she tried to collect her scattered mind. She precariously braced herself up her elbows, room still slightly whirling around her.

"Spike?" she called, out of breath.

Her senses finally came back into focus, and she heard him, hidden in the dark in the corner of the basement, muttering to himself and moaning in distress. Buffy sat upright on the table and climbed down. The remains of her top were hanging loosely from her shoulders, not covering her at all and leaving her abdomen and simple black bra exposed to the cool night air. She awkwardky grabbed the two half of the torn tank top and brought them back together, her already flushed face heating up a few degrees more.

"Can't, can't, can't..." His tormented whispers ghosted through the room, raising gooseflesh on her skin. Slightly spooked, Buffy moved over toward the bannister and snatch her khaki shirt off. She discarded her torn top, letting it hang in place of the shirt, shrugged the latter on, and took the time to fasten only three buttons in front before she tiptoed toward the corner where he was holed up.

Laundry was hanging from a clothesline between the wooden stairs and a pillar, concealing him like a curtain, and she slowly pushed one of Dawn's damp dresses sideways, the fresh scent of washing powder drifting up to her nose. She could only glimpse his form, arms wrapped around himself, body shifting back and forth anxiously, blanketed by the darkness. "Spike?" she cautiously murmured.

He crept away from her, sliding along the wall until he was standing in the very corner under the stairs and he could go no further. "Don't come near me," he muttered, his voice low but strained, causing her pulse to quicken in warning. She ignored it however, and drew closer to him, entering the dark as well. Her Slayer eyes could barely discern him, but she could hear him take quick shallow breaths he didn't need, could feel the air congesting between them, could sense the vampire vibes she'd learned to recognize as his.

"Spike, what's wrong?" she asked gently, restraining herself from reaching out and touching him.

A shaky sigh escaped him and a few seconds passed before he was able to compose himself enough to answer. "The soul doesn't make a difference," he choked out, so close that his breath fanned over her face. "With or without it, I'm always hurting you."

A stumped Buffy stared wide-eyed into the shadows. _Hurting?_ What the hell was he babbling about? Heat was still pooled in her groin, her skin was hypersensitive and burning for his touch. Right now she was utterly craving him, the memories of the moments they'd spent together, the memory of his hands on her, of his lips against hers, of him inside her, had reignited an appetite she thought had been extinct. "Hurting me?" she retorted, doubtful. "Wha-"

But as soon as she lifted her hand toward him he bolted away. "I said stay away!" he growled, storming past her, coming back into the moonlight and bumping a hunched shoulder against the punching ball. She watched him with incomprehension as he paced around like a caged lion, hands clenching into fists, the tendons along his throat working.

"You didn't hurt me," she assured him, baffled by his reaction.

He snorted and didn't slow down. "I was holding you down," he argued, sounding disgusted with himself. "I was feeding from you and I..." He finally stopped walking, closed his eyes, and swallowed. Pain flickered across his face and he shook his head like he was trying to get rid of some hurtful thoughts. When he opened his eyes again it was to look down at the trembling hand he held out before him. "I..."

Buffy noticed the small amount of blood smearing his fingers. _Her_ blood. And she understood at last. She took a couple of careful steps toward him, coming to stand next to the still swinging punching bag. "You didn't do anything I didn't want you to do," she firmly asserted. "And besides, we both know I can take you."

He gave a dry, humorless little laugh. "No, you can't. Not while I have your blood in me."

His gaze suddenly locked on hers, pupils blown wide, irises bright with some dark energy, hunger coloring his pale features, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight. He looked...glorious. Breathtakingly handsome, fierce, and strong. Though visibly tortured and devoured by guilt. Buffy felt her heart liquify, her thoughts dissipate like clouds, and her skin tingling all over... The Slayer struggled to keep her mind from wandering. "Do you... Do you really think my blood made you stronger?"

He broke eye contact, once again looking down at his own hands. "I _know_ it," he affirmed. "I can feel it. I can feel...you."

She slowly exhaled a long sigh and imperceptibly nodded. "Good."

He looked up at her again, a hint of puzzlement in his blue eyes. His gaze swept over her in silence for a while, assessing her, drinking in the sight of her. "What did you do to me?" he eventually whispered.

She blinked with surprise. "What do you mean?"

"How did you do it?" Curiosity seemed to take over his feeling of culpability and he took a step closer, piercing eyes searching her face.

"The memories?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't do anything. I thought- I mean this didn't happen when Angel... or Dracula... I thought _you_ did-"

"Wasn't me," he cut in. "This never happened before. Ever."

Her lips parted and closed a couple of times, lost for words. "Not even with the other Slayers?" He just shook his head in response. Her eyebrows knitted together in perplexity. She'd never heard of it. Giles had never mentionned reviving memories through a vampire's bite. And it'd been more than that... A new kind of bound had been created between them. She had been able to _feel_ him, there, reliving the past with her, in her mind. "What does that mean?"

"Seems to be a recurrent question this days, eh? I got no bloody idea what it means," he replied, turning around to traipse toward the worn-out sink, not so far away from his sleeping cot. He turned the tap on, a grinding sound coming to life as water travelled through the old pipes in the wall, and he started to rub her blood off his skin. He was trying to act casual, but Buffy could perceive these barely visible tremors running through him. She quietly joined him next to the sink, watched him chafe his hands together vigorously, watched the water- slightly darkened by blood- gurgle down the plug hole. When he was done he turned the tap off and leaned on the sink, his long fingers gripping its edge, his head hung low. "How can you bear it?" he murmured. "How can you bear the thought of me touching you... after what I did."

"You didn't do anything."

He slowly lifted his head to stare at her, his body tensing so much that the sink creaked in protest under his weight. Even in the dim light she could see the black fire behind his eyes, the torment that lined his face, as he forced the next words out of his throat. "I tried to rape you."

"And you failed," she pointed out softly, stepping forward.

He pushed himself away from the sink, which rocked slightly, and away from her. "Doesn't change anything. The intent was there. I'm unforgivable."

"Will you stop doing that!" Buffy exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air in exasperation. "Quit flogging yourself! It's not your fault, you weren't yourself."

"How can you say that? !" he countered, resuming his pacing. "Don't tell me I was under the Big Bad's influence back then, 'cause you know damn well that's bullshit."

"You didn't have your soul."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "'Cause I'm doing so much better now that I have it."

Irritation flaring without warning, Buffy strode toward him, grabbed his shoulder and slammed him against the nearest wall. His eyes widened in astonishment, but even if her blood had given him extra juice the boiling glare she shot him stiffled his complaint. "Now you listen to me, mister," she grumbled, pinning him against the grey stone wall. "The role of the ever brooding guilt-ridden vampire is already taken. Hearing Angel's whining tonight was enough. Get over yourself, Spike." She let go of his shoulder and he opened his mouth to protest but her forefinger flew up in the air to shut him up. "I'm not done."

She huffed and turned around, both of her hands coming up to her forehead. _I swear one day one of them will succeed in driving me crazy_... She bent down to pick up the chair that had fallen to the floor, angled it so it faced in his direction, and plopped down on it. She ran her fingers through her long hair and sighed, then her gaze glided toward his face again. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, lips pressed together, impatient.

"Angelus... was one of the most vicious vampire I ever had to face," she started, leaning back in her chair. "He was the worst kind. Smart, ruthless, cruel, sadistic. He wore the face of my first love and used it to his advantage. Played with me like a cat plays with a mouse. He tortured Giles... murdered Jenny. Displayed her corpse in a morbid tableau, and reveled in our grief. He was evil to his bone marrow." She had to stop for an instant, swallowing through the thick lump in her throat. "But I never held it against Angel. Because it wasn't _him_." She gave Spike a pointed look, emphasizing that last word. He wasn't trying to interrupt her now, he just listened in silence. "The same applies to you. You can't punish yourself for the things the demon inside you did. You only did good since you got your true free will back. You helped me with the girls, you defended me, comforted me... You spared Wood's life, even though he'd tried to kill you. Spike, the person your were before you got your soul back doesn't exist anymore. That's why I allowed them to take the chip out."

The vampire sighed and rubbed a hand over his weary face. "T's not that simple, love." He straightened up and walked over to his cot, slumped onto the light blue sheets and rested his back against the wall. His hand came up to wrap around his nape and he rolled his head on his shoulders, still looking pretty tense. "Angelus and Angel... It's all black and white. I'm not like that. I'm all shades of gray, always have been, and always will be."

A small smile tugged at Buffy's lips, she got up to her feet, crossed the distance between them, and settled down next to him on the sleeping cot, one foot tucked under her. "You're right. There's _always_ been light inside of you Spike. So much so that it didn't need a soul to come up to the surface. And in all cases, you shine a lot lighter gray than you used to," she said softly. His features softened a notch, the first sign of relaxation he'd shown since he'd bitten her. "It's not your fault..." Her hand came up on its own motion and this time he didn't shrug away. "It's a disease. Drusilla infected you. Angel infected her. Darla infected him... And it goes on. It's not your fault." The pad of her fingers gently skimmed his skin, moved over his face, traced his bone structure, and he slowly unwound at her touch, his eyes closing and his lips parting. "You were the only one brave enough to look for a cure." She admired his masculine face, chiseled cheekbones, his crown of white hair shining in the moonlight giving him the perfect touch of innocence. "My beautiful vampire," she murmured.

He caught her hand in his own and pressed it against his lips. "I love you," he breathed fervently against her skin. His eyes turned into liquid pools of yearning and they bore into hers, stealing all the air from her lungs. She felt her body stir, her blood sizzle, her insides melt. Her pulse went haywire just at the thought of... The memories weren't enough. She needed to feel him again. Needed to taste him again.

She lowered her hand and very hesitantly scooted closer to him, dropping her gaze. His breath caught in his throat and every fiber in his body tensed in anticipation. Hope blooming inside him, he stayed unnaturally still, as stiff as a statue, afraid that the barest movement on his part would make her change her mind. Her nervous pulse was hammering in her throat and in his ears, she was now close enough to touch, and she leaned in to brush her mouth along his jawline, her heartbeat growing faster the more she got near him. Somehow she knew it was wrong. It wasn't the right time... Not now, not after what they'd been through, not when knowing she could lose him by the next day's evening... But that was also the reason why she couldn't stop herself. She might be living her last night on Earth, and she'd be damned if she died without having been with him- truly be with him- one last time.

Her firm yet supple lips whispered over his hollow cheek, soft as petals against his sensitive skin. He shivered beneath her touch, the hair on his nape rising at the feeling of her warm breath sailing over his face, a sigh slipped from his parted lips and he couldn't help turning toward her, his mouth chasing after hers. Their lips touched in a featherlike, tantalising caress, their ragged breaths mingled...and they both closed the last inch at the same time, each claiming the other's mouth.

Desire barreled through their veins simultaneously and in an explosion of sensations they were suddenly all lips, hands, and possessiveness. Every nerve ending in his body awakening at once, the vampire wrapped his arms around his Slayer, toppled her over onto the narrow cot, and covered half of her body with his, one knee between her legs. He coaxed her mouth open, his scent and taste invading her senses, deliciously male, each easy stroke of his tongue producing a fiery tug between her legs. Her hands prowled eagerly over his muscular shoulders and back and his palms were itching to touch her as well, but he needed her to be sure. Absolutely, one thousand percent sure.

He reluctanly tore his lips away from hers, leaving her panting and burning with want, and burrowed his face into the crook of her neck. "Do you want me?" he breathed, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of her ear.

"Yes," she gasped, squirming with need.

"Certain?" he insisted, teeth ligthly nipping her ear's lobe.

"Yes! Goddammit Spike, yes!" she moaned, the pitch of her voice slightly higher than usual.

Her words eased the ache in the center of his chest and his mouth molded around hers once more, the wet satin of his tongue gliding past her lips. Fingers weaving through her hair he drank her in, her strawberry taste melting on his tongue, filling his soul with warmth, joining the spicier flavor of her blood inside him. He had never been able to truly appreciate her before, to truly appreciate how sweet, hot, soft...

She caught his lower lip between hers, flicked her tongue against it, and pulled it back lightly before she dove in once more, her tongue sliding over his in a gut-clenching caress. He groaned into her mouth, her passion and languorous kisses sending bolts of heat straight to his crotch. She was obviously in a less romantic state of mind than him, but clearly there was no denying her what she wanted. He couldn't think of a better way to spend his last night on Earth than having a roll in the hay with Buffy Summers.

His fingers lightly brushed her hips through her pants, glided up towards her waist, slipped under her parting shirt. Buffy's breathing was growing more and more uneven as he spread his hand across her ribs, his fingertips just grazing the seam of her bra. A low whine slipped through her lips and she put her hand upon his through her shirt, guided it under the fabric and pressed his palm to the swell of her breast.

He smiled against her lips, her impatience arousing him even more. "Eager much, Baby?" he whispered teasingly, keeping his mouth just a hair's breadth away from hers.

"Touch me," she murmured, nails digging into his biceps, pressing her body against his.

No one in their right mind would say no to this. The hand he'd slithered under her shirt jerked up, yanking the cloth open and causing the buttons to spill out onto the floor in a burst. His mouth moved down her neck in a trail of kisses, nips, licks, and her head pressed back into the mattress, chest rising up the cot. His fingers hooked into the cup of her jet-black bra and pulled it aside to expose her right breast. Spike's cool lips closed around her nipple, his tongue swirling over the delicate and hardening aureola, wrenching a desperate mewl from her throat as sparks of pleasure arched inside her stomach, coursing from her breast to her womb. Her chest vibrated under his mouth, the sound reverberated into his bones, sending a lust-fueled hunger roaring along every nerve and into every muscle. He needed her naked, fully and utterly naked, the whole canvas of her bare flesh at his mercy.

Pulling away from her, he tugged her shoes off her small feet, tossed them carelessly onto the floor, unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, then grabbed its waistband and her panties at the same time before tugging both garments down her legs and off, all in one sharp acurate yank. Buffy sat up reflexively, a wave of heat rippling off her skin, her knees pressing together. He'd seen her nude many times, but not since he'd gotten his soul back, it'd been a long time, and she suddenly felt inexplicably bashful even though he'd already explored every inch of her body several times. Still she didn't stop him when he slowly eased her shirt down her arms and reached around her to unhook her bra with one swift flick of his fingers. She willingly let him take these last remaining clothes off her, but couldn't meet his eyes when she felt them on her.

His gaze raked over her body, over every curve, every dip, every perfect contour, until he placed his hand under her chin and he lifted it, his intent stare finally meeting her self-conscious one. "There're a lot a wonders I laid eyes on during my long stay on Earth, Buffy," he said, love lacing his words. "You might very well be the most beautiful one."

Her lips parted, a glimmer sparkling in her green eyes, and at this moment she found herself so attached to him that certain forbidden words wanted to come up to her lips... Yet she repress them, she had to. "Kiss me," she breathed instead, so quietly that a mere human wouldn't have understood.

His chest tightened, adoration choking him for a second. There was a lot of things Buffy had asked him to do, but never this. Never this simple, loving request. This woman was evoking feelings in him he hadn't experienced since Drusilla had given him her deathly kiss of immortality. Overwhelmed with the wealth of emotions her words had spilled forth in him, he leaned closer, cupped her face in both hands, and pressed his lips against hers.

Her arms wound around him tightly and she lay back onto the sheet, pulling him with her, uncoiling the length of her naked body against his fully clothed one as they both lay on their sides. "I love you," he vowed once again against her mouth as she wrapped a taunt leg around his hip. He was losing himself in her caresses, in her affection. "I love you..."

His open palms skated over her skin, exploring the shapely forms he'd missed so much, while their lips and tongues danced a slow sensual tango. She slinked her hands under his T-shirt, warm fingertips sliding across the flat surface of his abdomen, leaving trails of electricity in their wake, making the muscles underneath flinch and clench in reaction. Her clutching fingers impatiently tugged at the piece of cloth and their lips broke apart so she could peel it off him. Buffy took the time to admire her lover, her eyes as bright as emeralds in the penumbra, obviously liking what she was seeing. She splayed her hands over his pale skin and smoothed caresses over his shoulders, his pecs, his stomach, and the sexy V shape of his lower abs, perfectly sculpted as if in marble. Her eyes slowly shifted up while her hands kept going down, and she stared into the bottomless inky pools of his pupils as she worked the buckle of his belt.

They were breathing the other's air, lustful gazes linked together, the scorching steam of their desire heating up the cool atmosphere of the basement, and just when she plunged her hand inside his pants his palm circled around her hip and his fingers grazed her hot, silken folds. Sighs of satisfaction escaped their mouths at the same time and the Slayer's eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of his fingertips rolling over the very core of her pleasure. She tried to stay focused, pressing her palm against the rock hard bulge that was still trapped in his underwear, fingers tracing the length of him through the fabric, yet before she could slid her hand inside his boxer he rolled them over until he was on top of her, settling between her open thighs.

His hand never moving away from her crotch he slowly kissed his way southwards, locks of his hair tickling her skin on the way down. Buffy's body pulsed with excitement when she understood where he was going, and her hands clasped his shoulders while his devoted lips teased her breasts, tasted the skin of her belly, passed her navel, worshiping her body like she was a feast and he was a starved man. The vampire kneeled next to the cot- the makeshift bed being too narrow- draped her firm legs over his shoulders and nestled his face between her parted thighs, licking his cool velvet tongue deep into her body. Buffy inhaled a big gasp as the tip of his tongue stroked just in the right places, her pelvis rose up from the cot, and Spike grabbed her hips to keep her down, not letting her escape from the delicious ministrations of his mouth.

Her fingers fisted into the sheet, while he worked her up expertly, knowing exactly how to touch her, and she couldn't help from grinding herself against his mouth, her soft moans filling up the charged air. He groaned in appreciation when he felt her move and the vibration rippled through her, making her eyes rolled back behind her closed eyelids. Adding to the blissful swipes of his tongue, he pushed two fingers inside her and curled them up, hitting pressure points he knew were there.

"Oh God," she purred, revelling in that dazzling, amazing sensation growing in the pit of her stomach. Her hands were clasping and unclasping, in need to hold on to something more consistent than the thin blue sheet. Her palms roved the cot until one gripped the edge of the metallic structure supporting the mattress- knukles turning white, the metal grinding and bending- and the other pressed against the callous wall.

Her eyes were closed, but he was watching her. Smoldering blue eyes scrutinized her, enthralled by the writhing goddess lying before him, offering him access to her sweet haven which he worshiped relentlessly with deep, intimate kisses. Her thighs tightened against his cheeks, the combined effort of his mouth and fingers bringing her higher and higher, sweat beading on her skin, her heart pounding madly in her chest, drowning in the keen pleasure coursing through her veins. All the sounds she was making, her moans, her sighs, her gasps, were absolute music to his ears however he knew she was holding back, trying her best to stay quiet... And he wanted her to sing. He flicked his tongue over her sensitive bud of nerves one more time, sucked it into his mouth, then gently nibbled on the delicate flesh. And her reaction didn't disappoint. She bounced up the bed with a cry that echoed throughout the room, tremors running down her legs, and her walls clamped down on his fingers for a fraction of a second. She was right on the edge, and Spike stopped just before she could cross it.

She whimpered a small "No," as he pulled away from her crotch, kissed her inner thigh, and started to crawl up her body again. Buffy's eyes fluttered open and she was torn between confusion and heavy frustration, her chest pumping harshly for air, trying to clear up her foggy mind. Spike was gazing seductively down at her, hands braced on either side of her shoulders, licking the taste that still lingered on his lips, and shooting her a smile that would've charmed the pants off the most prudish nun. She blinked through the haze, feeling her limbs tight with unreleased tension, and her brows drew together accusingly. "Why did you stop?" she asked through panting breaths.

He lowered himself so he could brush his lips against hers and the faint flavor of her own scent wafted into her nostrils. "'Cause I want it to last as long as possible, Baby," he replied in a lazy, flirty drawl. "And because I want to be inside you when you come."

His voice, his touch, his mere presence were making her insides ache with want, the need to feel him, all of him, consummed her, and she crashed her mouth against his, firmly wrapping her hands around the nape of his neck. She locked her legs around his lean hips and she spun him around with a twist of her pelvis. But she had forgotten they weren't lying on a regular bed and they whirled off the cot in result. The vampire's back thudded against the cold ground of the basement and Buffy landed on top of him.

"Oompf!" Spike grunted, but a small smile soon parted his lips and he lifted his head up the ground, a lustful light flickering in his eyes. "Glad to see you still like it rough, Slay-"

Her steel-strong fingers closed around his throat, not squeezing, but it shut him up instantly nevertheless. She slowly bent over him, stark naked, like a lioness hovering over her prey, bringing her face just inches away from his. "No more talking," she whispered, before flicking her tongue across his upper lip. He answered with a low feral growl rumbling from his chest, his hands grasping her hips into an iron grip. His groin burned, his yearning for every inch of this woman clawing through his muscles, his predatory nature and the thrill of having her dominating battling for supremacy inside him.

Her tongue lazily trailed over his collarbone, making the vampire squirm, but she held him in place as she licked her way down his smooth torso, feeling his pecs shudder underneath his skin. She was grinding her hips down on his, moving in circles, restless and wanton, teasing the hardness she felt through his boxer and opened fly, and the tip of her tongue skimmed over the peak of his nipple, wringing a guttural sigh from him. She was driving him _insane_ , and feeling her teeth nip at his flesh was the last straw. Gold flashed in his eyes for an instant, his hand flew to his neck to close around her wrist and he had no difficulty in breaking her grip, empowered as he was by her blood. He wrapped an arm around her slim waist and lithely rolled her beneath him with a quiet snarl, swapping position so he could be on top again.

Buffy winced when her back came in contact with the hard basement ground, for if it had felt cold to the vampire, it was feeling _icy_ to her hot, sweaty body. A shiver ran down her spine, goosebumps rose along her skin once again, but Spike sank his demanding lips to hers and effectively took her mind off everything that wasn't him. Her open hands pressed against the strong shape of his back, trying to bring him as close to her as she could while they feverishly kissed, their lips moving together in a searing bound as if their very existence depended on it. She wanted to absorb him, to melt into him, to inhaled his spirit until she could feel him in her bloodstream. She needed him, needed to lose herself in him... Her dark place, the one she could tell anything and everything, the one who understood her, the one with whom she could truly let herself go...

The one who couldn't get enough of her. His weight supported by one forearm on the concrete floor, his other hand roaming over the satiny hills and valleys of her forms, his palms molding her firm round breasts, tracing the contour of her body, glossy with a thin sheen of sweat in the soft streaks of the moonlight. They both burned and trembled with the same overpowering need to be one with each other, both pressed by the same urge, so turned on they couldn't see straight, and when they couldn't bear the thought of being apart for a second longer, they simultaneously tugged at Spike's black jeans and boxer, shoving them down his hips, him using his hand and Buffy her feet. He positioned himself at her entrance, placed his hand on her hip, and before too long he plunged deeply inside her liquid heat, burying himself to the hilt within her.

Their bodies stiffened, his groan of pleasure mingled with her womanly moan, both sounds resonating through the air, and time seemed to stand still for a few thudding heartbeats, their shaky breaths the only noises breaking the sudden silence. Buffy's eyes were squeezed shut, nails imprinting little crescent moon shapes in his shoulders as she panted in short breaths, her body adjusting to his, soft warm depths slowly relaxing around his cool hardness. A sensual fog had wrapped around them both and Spike mind had dissolved into a muddled phantasmagoria, the pure, exquisit agony of her tight welcoming body emptying his brain of thoughts. He'd never known a woman's touch when he'd been human. William, the helpless romantic, had been waiting, preserving himself for the One. Sure Spike'd done a _lot_ of naughty stuff since then, some of it with Buffy, most of the rest with his sire, and he hadn't forgotten any of it. But this was the first time...for William. Feeling her beneath him, surrounding him, his very soul soaking up the scent of her... It overwhelmed him. And for a moment he could do nothing but take it all in, processing the emotions and sensations.

Slowly his eyelids slid open, and he gazed down at his lover through the blur, watching the strands of her blond hair spread in a pale golden halo across the dark floor, her eyes still shut, brow slightly furrowed with tension. He realised just how _tense_ she was, arms and legs clasped rigidly against his sides, the muscles in her pelvis quivering, and guilt suddenly pricked his unbeating heart. All he was feeling was utter sensory pleasure but he might very well be hurting her at the same time...

He dipped his head and gently nuzzled her face, sipping the tender skin of her cheek with fluttering kisses, allowing himself to show more tenderness than he ever had before. She felt so soft...so deceptively fragile... She slightly stirred against him and he drew just a few inches back, blue eyes fixed on her face as she slowy opened her eyes. "Buffy," he murmured, his voice more strained than he'd intended, "you alright, lov-"

The rest of the word dissipated into a muted gasp when her fiery, smoking forest green gaze dived into his eyes. Her beauty dammed the air in his lungs and he stayed still, bewitched, as she snaked her hand between them and placed delicate fingers on his face. "You know me better than that," she returned him, with as much fire in her voice as there was in her eyes. "I'm a lot better than alright."

Relief washing through him, he nestled his face in her hand like a cat asking to be stroked, pressed a hot kiss to the center of her palm, and when her fingers brush again his parted lips his tongue darted forward, licking her fingertips. She dipped her middle finger within, stroking the moist heat of his mouth as he gently sucked on the pad of her finger. Buffy closed her eyes, feeling as if the inch of skin he'd surrounded with his lips was directly connected to the apex of her thighs and she unconsciously arched her back, her muscles tightening around his shaft. Spike's chest clenched, forcing a ragged sigh out of him, and finally he began to move, feeling as if she'd just given him permission.

He began sliding himself in and out at an unhurried pace, intent on enjoying every second, the friction he was creating between them filling her with warmth, a gratifying sensation of fullness, a pleasant pressure that spread from where they were joined out into her pelvis, abdomen, up her chest and along her limbs. She shifted her knees up his body, wrapped her fit legs around him, ankles locking behind his buttocks so she could take him deeper. He moaned in ecstasy, his lips descending over hers, tongue tangling with hers, the pace of his rolling hips slowly increasing.

The chilling stony ground she was lying on was uncomfortable, her skin pinched between her spine and the concrete from time to time, but clearly she couldn't care less. Each blissful thrust of his hips were sending surge of thrumming heat in her guts, his body now warm enough to make her forget about the cold. She cuddled her face into his neck, welcoming his weight on her, her hands stroking up and down his back, relishing the feel of his strong frame in her arms, hard muscles contracting under his soft skin as he glided in and out of her body.

However she needed more. He'd already started to build her orgasm with his mouth, bringing her so close to heaven only to leave her hot, bothered and frustrated, and now he was stimulating her just enough to keep her excitement intact, but not enough to take her higher. She needed more.

She moved with him, her body undulating against his, using her feet to drive him harder into her. He automatically responded, angling his pelvis so that his pubic bone ground against her and moving faster, enjoying the feeling of her breasts brushing his chest, enjoying the tightness of her muscles around him, tensing everytime he rubbed against her, giving him more pleasure and making him thrust himself deeper, harder, faster. Still the fire of their bodies paled in comparison to the connection of their minds. Whereas it was due to her blood running through his veins or something else entirely, his soul had weaved into hers until there was no telling where one mind ended and where the other began. They were both experiencing something totally new to them: perfect, harmonious union.

Heavy breathing, animalistic grunts, flesh meeting flesh, hot musky scent, bodies coiling with pleasure in the dark, delicious friction... It all blended together, their minds spiraling up this intoxicating cocktails of sensations, her nails digging into his shoulder blades, scratching down his back, and his mouth breathing over the biting mark he'd left on her neck. Her fingers threaded through his messy platinum locks, she could feel his lips so close to her pulse her toes curled from the odd thrill of the knowledge that he hungered for her. She exposed her throat to him, arching her neck, light-headed with anticipation. She wasn't doing it to make him strong, nor to cure him of some supernatural poison like she had with Angel. She _wanted_ it. She couldn't explain it. She just wanted to feel that unique connection again. She wanted to be...his.

"Do it," she demanded huskily, legs winding even tighter around him.

But he was fighting it, features shifting back and forth from human to vampiresque, eyes flickering blue and gold, parted lips inches away from her thumping pulse. He was all but clawing at the ground, resisting the urge to bite with all his might, knowing he'd already taken more than he should have...

Buffy was rocking her hips, meeting his forceful thrusts, the insistent ache for release throbbing at her core, and she unintentionally flexed her inner muscles around him, ripping a hiss from his throat. "Please," she gasped, "please, William, don't make me beg," she pleaded in choked, whimpering hiccups that betrayed her imminent climax.

He could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage, could feel each breathy pant that landed on his skin, could feel her burning body twist and writhe beneath him. And the sound of his birth name on her lips was too much, her voice a drag of velvet against his nerves, making him give in. Once again conscious thoughts faded, letting primal instincts take over. He dipped his head into the crook of her neck, fangs sinking past skin, reopening her wound, and hot ambrosia filled his mouth, flowing over his tongue like ripe plum and summer heat. The Slayer's back bowed off the cold ground, a cry leaving her opened mouth, bright coloured stars erupting behind her closed eyelids as waves of bliss raked her body, tightening every single muscle in their wake. The vampire surrendered to his own orgasm, whitehot ecstasy crashing through him like a tidal wave, he spasmed inside her clenching depths, hips bucking erratically, her neck muffling the roar of fulfillement that tore through his throat. And while they rode the crest together, both quivering uncontrollably, the same unknown power that had ensnared their minds took hold of them again, pushing their consciousness down into another level of reality.

* * *

Thanks for reading. And remember, review is love :-)


	6. Give Your Tears To The Tide

Chapter title: Wait - M83

AN: Thanks for the reviews guys! I'm glad you like it so far :-)

* * *

*-X-*-X-*-X-*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*

 _"Keep the line together!" Buffy shouted to her fellow Slayers. "Drive them to the edge, we can't let them-"_

 _The end of her command got stuck in her throat as the world suddenly turned into pain. Sharp, blinding pain. Buffy slowly looked down at her own abdomen, mouth slightly hanging open, and through the black spots obscuring her vision she stared at the crimson stain that was rapidly expanding, blood soaking the white fibers of her shirt. Numbly she started forward, unable to remember what she was supposed to say, the battle that had been raging all around her just a second earlier suddenly moving in slow-motion, sounds muffled as if someone had stuffed cotton balls in her ears. Her legs gave out after a couple of steps and she collapsed onto the cavernous ground._

 _"BUUUUUuuuuuuffyyyy..."_

 _Coming from so far away she heard the distorded call of her name. The cave whirled around her, nausea weighing heavily on her stomach, but the blond found enough strength in her to raise her head from the ground and look up. The fuzzy silhouette of a kneeling Faith came into focus and the two Slayers met eyes, Faith's horrified, and Buffy's haggard. Enemies, partners, sisters. Slowly it came back to her... The First. The Turok-Han. The end of world. Hold the line. Must hold the line._

 _Buffy held out the Scythe to her sister-in-arm. The Scythe belonged to Faith as well. It belonged to_ all _of them. As long as there would be a Slayer still valiant enough to wield it, there would be hope. "Hold the line," she said weakly, agony in her belly as her wound tore at her guts with each word. The brunette raised their weapon, well aware of the responsibility that was being passed on to her, a fierce determination settling in her tenebrous face, she sprang back onto her feet and turned around in one single movement, bringing the Scythe up and slashing through one of the Turok-Han's bony jaw._

 _Buffy lay on the ground, panting, trying to deal with the pain, bleary eyes sweeping over her surroundings._

 _Screams. Rage. Suffering. Bones crushing. Flesh tearing. Wood piercing. Slayers dying. Blood... Blood everywhere. Gushing, trickling... Amanda's corpse slumping down onto the ground._

 _"Oh no, ow!" some light, mocking voice suddenly simpered. Buffy eyes slid up to look at her evil doppelganger. "Mommy, this mortal wound is all...itchy," the First went on, advancing toward the Slayer whose looks it was currently wearing. It crouched in front of her. "You came pretty close to smacking me down," the First boasted. "What more do you want?"_

 _Pure hatred vibrated inside Buffy's core, radiated up into her chest, out into her limbs, pumping strength back into her muscles. "I want you," she snarled through gritted teeth, slowly propping herself up on all four, rage burning inside her eyes. "To get out of my face!" she spat out._

 _She got up, ignoring the throbbing ache inside her, adrenaline shooting through her veins and making up for the blood loss. Rona threw her the Scythe, which lobbed through the air right into Buffy's awaiting hands. Emetting an enraged war cry the blond Slayer swung it with as much force as she could muster, the whistle of the blade reaping the air,_ _flying through the ghost_ - _like figure of her mirror image, and knocking three Turok-Han off the cliff at once. She started taking them out, one by one, slicing, punching, kicking, staking, beheading all evil that was within Scythe length. Her body was fighting on its own, years of training imprinted in her movements._

 _Her side was gaining the upper hand. She could feel it. Yes the Turok-Han kept coming in undying waves, clawing their way up the cliff, but her Sisters and herself were fighting as one, united, connected. Faith, Kennedy, Violet, Rona, Shannon... She felt them move, felt them breath, felt them vanquish. They had a chance. They only needed to hold on..._

 _"Buffy!"_

 _This particular voice snapped her out of her killing trance. Buffy paused, holding the Scythe defensively in front of her, the dusty cloud of the last enemy she'd just slew drifting past her. Adopting a protective stance in reaction to the shock in Spike's tone, she spun around, expecting him to be surrounded by Turok-Han, hurt and in need of her help. Clearly what she saw instead caught her off guard._

 _Spike was standing straight as a ramrod, bathed in a golden beam of light that shone down from the heavens upon him, chest sticking out, opened palms facing outward. "Spike!" she cried out, bolting toward this nearly biblical figure._

 _The amulet hanging about his neck suddenly incandesced, the sunlight gathering inside him, using him as a condenser and the gem as a lense, and before Buffy could reach him blazing rays shot out of the jewel, flooding the hellmouth with a purifying glare of fire. The rays of light vaporizing the Turok-Han army weren't harming the Slayers who where standing in their way, but the ground shook threateningly, big pieces of rocks detached from the walls and ceiling, crashing mere feet away from the girls._

 _"Everybody out, now!" Faith bawled, leading the flow of Slayers who rushed toward the stairs that led to the seal overhead._

 _Buffy joined Spike's side, ingnoring Faith's order, and she stared in awe at the glowing vampire in front of her._

 _"I can feel it, Buffy," he murmured, gazing straight ahead as if he couldn't see her._

 _"What?" she asked in a breath, pondering whether or not she should snatch the amulet from around his neck. He was standing in direct sunlight but he wasn't burning... yet. She couldn't imagine that much exposition to the sun would do him any good though._

 _He eventually looked at her._ _"My soul," he explained. L_ _ips parted in amazement,_ _his_ _eyes nailed her,_ _blue irises_ _banding wide_ _pupils_ , _ablazed like two smoldering embers. "It's really there... Kinda stings."_

 _The_ _newly activated_ _Slayers ran for their lives, without so much as a backward glance for the vampire who was currently saving them. The hellmouth was caving in, the Earth deeply rumbling, and the stone vibrated under their feet. The couple heard the school overhead fall apart, glass shatter, walls collapse. They heard girls scream and Xander's desperates calls for Anya._

 _"Go on, then!" Spike prompted the last remaining Slayer, fearing that she'd be trapped if she stayed here a minute longer._

 _Buffy shook her head, refusing to even consider it. "No, no, you've done enough! You could still-"_

 _"No," the vampire replied, his voice calm in contrast to the ambiant chaos, as if he was trying to reason a small child. "You've beat them back. It's for me to do the cleanup."_

 _Buffy turned around, looking back at the immense cave that was crumbling, destroyed by the golden rays the amulet was still emiting. What was he doing? The Turok-Han were dead and the few that remained would soon be buried alive. Or...buried undead. They'd won. He needed to take that thing off and come with her, they could still flee through the tunnels..._

 _"Buffy, come on!" Faith's voice urged, drifting down the stairs that led to freedom. To life. Life without him._

 _Buffy shook her head ever harder, tears brimming in her eyes. No way. She wouldn't leave without him._

 _"Gotta move, lamb," Spike pressed her, "I think it's fair to say school's out for bloody summer."_

That's it. He's lost his freaking mind.

 _"Spike!" the Slayer cried, her free hand flying toward his chest in order to rip the amulet off._

 _But he held up his own hand to stop her. "I mean it! I gotta do this."_

 _The damn gem was messing with his mind! Whatever was happening to him, he seemed to be enjoying it, and Buffy doubted that it could be pleasant. This masochistic fool was about to sacrifice himself just because he suddenly fancied the idea of being called a martyr._

 _Hysteria bubbled up inside her. He couldn't do this to her... She needed him. Her vision blurred, tears welling up even more, and she laced her fingers through his, hoping to draw him out of his daze. His fingers slowly closed around hers and his gaze slid toward their linked hands which suddenly lit aflame. Mystical flames licked their skins, not damaging her, but his hand started to reden. His eyes found hers again and Buffy tried to swallow past the pebble-like lump in her throat._

 _Strangled words managed to climb up to her mouth and slipped out of her lips before she could think them through. "I love you..."_

 _Reflected_ _firelight_ _danced_ _in_ _his eyes, he huffed a laugh and his lips quirked_ _in the_ _semblance of a smile. "No, you don't. But thanks for saying it."_

 _Buffy's heart withered into ashes inside her chest and her fingers slackened around his hand. He didn't believe her. She'd finally admitted the depth of her feelings for him to herself, she'd finally found the courage to utter the words he'd been waiting to hear for more than a year... And he didn't believe her._

 _Detonation._

 _A thunderous rumble splitted the air, a massive force tore through the ground, the Earth quaked even harder than before and rocks rattled. The couple separated, each letting go of the other's hand. Buffy gasped, staggering back and doing her best to stay upright._

 _"Now go!" he beseeched her, the flames slowly spreading up his arm and inward into his parched soul._

 _His words and the destruction around her eventually triggered her survival instincts. Buffy ducked under the beam of light coming for his chest and scurried up the rickety stairs, sick at heart._

 _"I want to see how it ends," Spike muttered once she was gone, poised like a fallen archangel awaiting death, now totally engulfed in fire._

 _Buffy sprinted through the school's corridors, feet crushing glass as she zizaged between debris, she sprang over iron bars and boulders of plaster. She ran up the stairs that led to the roof when she realised the front door had already collapsed. Her mind had stayed with him in the cave, but her body ran, jumping from rooftops to rooftops, chasing the yellow bus which was trying to outdrive the gaping hole forming in place of Sunnydale. Her body leaped in the air, rolled as it hit the bus' roof, grunting as blood poured out of her abdominal wound on the impact. She slammed the Scythe into the painted metal and anchored herself to the weapon with both hands. Blond hair whipping around her face, she cast a glance over her shoulder and witnessed the annihilation of her town, buildings, streets and cars being sucked back into the Earth, a giant cloud of gray smoke rising toward the sky until it obscured the sun._

 _Once they'd crossed the town's border the ground stopped shaking, the almighty rumble finally subdued, and the bus came to a screeching halt. Buffy let go of the Scythe and jumped down off the roof, panting, a mixture of sweat, dust, and blood clinging to her skin, and she stared with lifeless eyes first at the crater and then at the endless desert road ahead of the bus. Her past...and her future._

 _The school bus' back door opened to reveal a smiling Dawn who jumped into her sister's arms. Buffy's body automatically embrace her back, but she couldn't feel the warmth, couldn't feel the love._

 _"I don't understand," an ever composed Giles said next to the Summers girls. "What did this?"_

Of course you don't understand _, the bitter thought resounded in Buffy's otherwise empty head._ You've never believed in him _._

 _Pulling away from Dawn, the Slayer turned back to look at her lover's grave. "Spike," she muttered, the name slicing her gut like a well-honed knife. She took a few steps toward the vast abyss that Sunnydale had become and watched the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign teeter and then disappear into the pit as it fell backward. The survivors gathered around her. She heard them speak, but didn't listen. Nothing mattered anymore. Her heart filled with dread and devastation, a profound sadness, a melancholy so great, her chest constricted and the colors of the world lost their luster._

 _The empty shell of Buffy Summers stood on the edge of loss and death, tears streaming down her tanned cheeks in a never-ending flow._

 _The Slayer wept for her fallen Champion._

*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

*-X-*-X-*-X-*-X-*-X-*

Buffy gasped for air, body drenched in sweat, heart pounding and chest tight. She was still lying on the basement's ground, Spike hovering over her. He was in shock as well but she didn't even notice. A chilling pins-and-needles had crept all over her and she felt this pressure on her throat, as if her voice was trapped and couldn't come out. Heaving like a fish out of water and shivering convulsively, she weakly pushed him away with shaking arms.

"B-Buffy..."

Not hearing him she wriggled free of his weight and managed to sit up. She buried her fingers in her hair, white sparks swimming before her eyes, lightheaded because she couldn't stop hyperventilating. The air seemed to be sodden with ice flecks, every breath in and out became agony.

"Slayer?"

She jolted when he lightly brushed her arm and she struggled to her feet. All felt glacial to her, the floor, the air, his touch... She gathered her senses enough to pick her crumpled clothes from the floor and hastily got dressed on wobbly legs. Her limbs were still flooded with endorphins caused by her climax and it made it even harder for her to regain her coordination.

Spike mimicked her, not intending to let her go anywhere alone in that state. "Buffy, wait," he pleaded as she floundered up the wooden stairs, clasping her khaki shirt closed over her bra.

He shrugged his T-shirt on a second before he followed her into the kitchen. Andrew, Violet, and another Potential- whose name Spike didn't recall but was certain he'd seen killed in the vision- were sitting around the kitchen island. He caught a glimpse of their stupefied expressions when the Slayer stormed through the hushed room with her vampire hot on her tail, but didn't take the time to explain. Not that they would've believed him anyway.

Buffy didn't slow down. In the lobby she rounded the newel post, her free hand grazing the polished rail, and hurried up the stairs that led to the first floor. Spike kept up, climbing two steps at a time, but when Buffy opened the bathroom's door he balked on the threshold, heart plummeting to his toes, and took an instinctive step back.

He barely remarked the presence of the two Potentials who'd been chatting their last night away in the small candle-lit room, nor the abrupt way Buffy ordered them out with a snapped and unceremonious "Out."

His body hanging on the edge of the door frame as the two girls scurried past him, the white-tiled floor attracted his gaze like a magnet, and for a moment he couldn't look away from the spot where he'd once held Buffy down. Self-loathing crawled under his flesh like a disease, the shadow of his old self looming over him as if it had slithered into every corner, grooves and plug holes. He recalled the sensations in the vision, the amulet burning a hole inside him, his skin blistering, his muscles singeing, his bones disintegrating. The excruciating pain. He deserved it all.

But it was his love for the woman he'd hurt that eventually dragged him back to the present, because she needed his help. Buffy was bent over the washbowl, elbows propped against the porcelain sink, repeatedly splashing her face with water.

"Buff?" he tried again gently, noticing how the shivers she'd managed to tamp down were coming back full strength.

A strangled sob suddenly hitched in her throat and her body slid off the sink in one fluid movement, until she lay in a heap on the floor, trying in vain to control her violent shaking. This sight and the sound of her crying was enough for him to overcome the gut-twisting apprehension the room held for him. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and quickly kneeled at her side. She slumped against him, unresponsing, sobs raking her slender body. Her skin was gleaming, slick with icy sweat. She was _freezing_ , feeling cold even to him... And clearly he wasn't the right person to warm her up. He'd never seen her like this. Not even when her mother had passed away. She was a complete and utter bubblering mess.

Gathering her trembling form into his arms he lifted her off the floor and laid her down into the tub. Still holding her with one arm and reaching for the tap with the other he turned the water on, and a warm steady stream of water flowed out of the showerhead. Spike doused his shivering Slayer with hot water, letting it soak her clothes and cascade down her back, all the while murmuring soothing words of comfort, a soft nonsense croon to calm her. "Shhh... I'm here... You're safe, love... I'm here..."

 _For now._

When a warm mist started to swirled up in the air and the mirrors in the room had fogged over, she finally regain a more human temperature. She was still breathing erratically but wasn't shaking anymore.

"How could you do this?" she whispered, empty eyes staring into space as wet locks of blond hair stuck to the sides of her face.

"I didn't do anything, Buffy," he softly replied, running water from her left shoulder to her right and then back again.

Slowly she turned to look at him, her green eyes blood-shot and puffy. "You would. You will."

"We don't know that..."

She suddenly grabbed his upper-arm in a bruising grip. "Spike, you can't wear the amulet tomorrow."

"Buffy..." he muttered, wincing, not because of the pain in his arm but rather because of the tinge of despair in her voice. "I don't think we have a choice."

"You can't," she begged, big tears rolling down her cheeks again. "You can't... Please..." She locked her arms around him over the tub's edge, burying her face in his neck, damping his T-shirt both with tears and shower water. "I can't lose you too," she wailed, voice breaking over the last two words.

Spike fervently hugged her back, still clasping the showerhead in his hand he pressed his face into her hair, holding on to her for dear life as he rocked her back and forth, feeling tears pricking the back of his eyes and his self-control ready to snap. He was seeing her again standing in the crumbling hellmouth by his side, her face serious and beautiful in the golden glow of his own fire while she refused to leave him. _I love you..._ Spike was starting to believe it. Clearly she couldn't love him as much as he loved her. But she felt something for sure.

They embraced for a long time, long enough for the tiled walls in the room to bead with moisture and for Buffy to cry herself exhausted. Spike eventually turned the tap off but kept on holding her for a couple of minutes in the sudden quiet. She was leaning against him, calmly breathing, heart beating steadily, silent as a grave. The vampire gently disengaged himself from her arms and held out his hand to grab the nearest towel. He pulled it from its rack, draped it around her shoulders and helped her up to her feet, enfolding her in the thick downy fabric at the same time. She stepped out of the tub, sat down on its edge while pulling the towel tightly around herself, and Spike crouched in front of her, scouring her worn-out face with troubled eyes.

"Aren't you afraid of death?" she murmured after a moment, staring down at her own feet. "True death?"

He sighed lenghtily, looking for the right way to explain what he felt. "It just... It didn't feel like death," he finally replied.

 _Pain? Yes. Death? Not...quite._

She let out a half-smothered snort and sniffed. "Well it certainly _looked_ like a big deadly hole. With deadly pyrotechs and all," she remarked, wiping her cheeks with a towel-clad hand. The corner of his lips pulled up into a small, fond smile. There she was. Buffy's gaze glided up to look at him and she sighed, one hand emerging from the folds of the damp towel to cup his hollow cheek. "You big bleached stupid guy," she mumbled, a tender spark of pride in her green irises. "Why do vampires always have to play lonesome heroes when they get a soul?"

"Two is a bit small a number to generalise it, don't you think?" he pointed out, turning his head just enough to press a kiss to her palm.

She didn't answer but instead brushed her thumb along his cheekbone, feeling the rush of emotion surging up again. There wasn't enough time... Not enough time to really show him how much she cared for him. She leaned foward, her lips settling on his, and she kissed him deeply, catching him off guard. Not enough time...

She joined him on the floor, pushing him just enough so that he toppled backwards and sat on his ass. The towel slid down her shoulders as she laced her arms around his neck and straddled him, water seeping from her drenched clothes into his. An explosion of need responded to her ardor in his belly and he kissed her back with abandon, sliding his fingers into her wet hair. Her lips held an urgency, her tongue delving into his mouth to stroke against his, her teeth lightly grazing his bottom lip, making him hum a breathy noise.

Unfortunately his blood was for once flowing in direction of his brain and he drew away just an inch. "Buffy... You don't have to." Nevertheless he was pulling her in, arching her back in the process.

"I want to," she breathed, showering fierce kisses over every inch of his face before her lips seeked out his again.

Her mouth molded to his once more and for a minute he let her kiss him. But when her fingers sneaked under the hem of his T-shirt and started to drag it up he grabbed her upper-arms and pulled her back, gentle but firm. "Not here," he said, blue eyes deeply earnest.

She darted a glance around and sobered up instantly, as if she was only realising now where they were. Her lips set in a serious line. "I don't want to go back down there."

"No need," he reminded her tenderly, caressing her plump, pink cheek with the back of his knuckles. "We've got a whole town at our disposal, remember?"

Her eyelashes fluttered, she sucked a long breath into her lungs, and nodded once. "I should probably put on some dry clothes," she added quietly after a couple of seconds, pushing herself up onto her feet.

"You do that," he agreed, trying hard _not_ to dwell on the way her wet shirt was perfectly clinging to her chest, outlining her breasts, her black bra showing through the lighter fabric.

The two lovers stood up, each coyly avoiding the other's gaze.

And the bathroom's door suddenly burst open, slamming against the white wall and letting in a gush of fresh air which blew out a couple of candles.

Buffy jumped, both their heads whipped toward the disturbance, and Spike glared at the intruder. Wood was standing on the other side on the door, the muscles in his arms bulging from tension, his fists and jaw tightly clenched. Peeking over his shoulder was one of the two Potentials whom Buffy had all but kicked out of the bathroom earlier. The girl seemed embarrassed, as if wondering whether or not she'd just screwed up. And oh she had. Big time.

The Principal gave Buffy's body a good look up and down as if he was x-raying her and the vampire felt the urge to hiss, possessiveness rearing inside him. Wood took in the Slayer's soaked clothes, her half-torn shirt, her still-red eyes, and the fresh bite mark on her neck.

"I'm sorry," the young Potential muttered with the tiniest voice. She looked like she wanted to dig herself a hole and pull in the dirt after her. "I just didn't know what to-"

Wood took one quick full stride forward and his fist collided with Spike's nose, cutting off the girl's apology. Not having expected such a straightforward move Spike took the blow hard, grunting and stumbling a step back.

"No!" Buffy yelled, pushing Wood away from Spike with a shove against his chest. "Robin, it's not what it looks like! You don't understand."

He started forward again only to be stopped by Buffy once more. He looked daggers at her, baring his teeth as if in disgust. "Oh I think I understand just fine," he spat out. "What's the matter with you? You're a _Slayer_ , why do you let him-"

He never finished his sentence. For a strong hand gripped the back his neck while another one slammed the bathroom's door into his face. The door cracked in prostest on its hinges, a bloody indentation now smearing its surface where Wood's head had hit.

"Spike!" Buffy exclaimed while the Potential fled down the corridor with a fearful shriek.

The vampire ignored her protest. Seizing a reeling Wood by the throat he stepped out of the room, smashed him against the corridor wall with a blood-curdling growl, and lifted him off the ground. A photo frame next to the Principal detached from the wall and shattered onto the ground. Wood squirmed, clawing at the hand around his neck, fighting for air, and staring into Spike's cold yellow gaze with bulging eyes.

"Oh yeah, I'm stronger than you remember, mate," Spike grumbled threateningly through gritted fangs.

"Spike, please, stop!" Buffy blurted out, putting a calming hand on the vampire's tense arm, not matching at all the slightly panicked edge to her voice. She could have tried to stop him herself but she didn't want the situation to escalate.

"I warned the brainless bugger, Buffy," the vampire rumbled, voice darker and deeper than usual. "Told him his next punch would be the last."

"I know." She dug her nails into Spike's skin without realising. "And I understand why you're angry. But please, look at me," she pleaded, placing her hand against his cheek. Yet the vampire kept his golden eyes locked on his prey's. "Spike, you've just proven to me you're willing to sacrifice yourself so everybody else could live. You're better than this."

That struck a nerve. Yellow eyes finally met green ones and his grip started to loosen, his body slightly unwinding.

"B? What's goin' on?" a groggy voice mumbled. "Everything alri- Hey! What the fuck?!"

Buffy whirled around and held out a warning hand in anticipation. "Faith, stay out of this."

Still standing in the door frame of Buffy's room, the dark-haired Slayer glowered at Spike, a deep frown set on her face, looking pissed off enough so that Buffy barely noticed she wasn't wearing any pants over her lacy thong. "Put him down!" she shouted, hands rolling into fists.

Wood used the distraction to sharply thrust a knee into Spike's guts and the vampire finally dropped him to the floor, holding his stomach with a snarl. Everything happened in a blur after that.

Faith bolted forward but Buffy hooked her arm around the brunette's waist and forcefully shoved her away. Wood succeeded in landing an uppercut to Spike's jaw which only managed to rile up the vampire even more. The platinum blond struck Wood's dark-skinned temple with the back of his hand, bringing him to his knees and nearly knocking him unconscious. Spike grabbed his opponent by the collar and his fist reared back for the next strike, which was sure to be a lethal one. Yet Buffy pushed Spike away before he could hit again, grabbed Wood's arm, and sent the Principal flying in Faith's direction.

Then both Slayers faced each other, feet firmly planted on the wooden floor, each standing before their mates, Faith in a protective stance, Buffy in a restraining one. Spike paced tiger-like behind Buffy's extended arms, a low growl rumbling deep within his chest as he stared at Wood who was down on one knee, coughing and panting heavily behind Faith.

"Get out of my way, B," Faith seethed.

"Buffy?" Willow's soft, though worried voice suddenly asked. "What's happening?"

Buffy reached behind her to pull Spike against the wall so she would be able to protect him from Willow or Kennedy if need be- or maybe the other way around- but since she trusted the girls not to attack right away she kept her eyes fixed on the other Slayer, who seemed to be the most imminent threat. Dammit this was getting out of hand.

"This stops _now_ ," Buffy declared authoritatively, green eyes boring into Faith's dark ones. "Spike and I are leaving the house for the rest of night."

"What happened to dry clothes?" Spike asked behind her, the quiet crackling of bones and cartilages grinding together as his human features reappeared.

"Priorities, Spike," she replied, trailing him behind her as she took a careful step toward Faith and Wood, heading for the stairs.

Slowly they moved along the wall, Spike's eyes still on Wood, Faith's on Spike, Buffy's on Faith. They reached the first step and Buffy prompted Spike down, following in his tracks, climbing down backward so she could keep an eye on Faith. The latter had stayed upstairs, not leaving the vampire out of her sight but not chasing after him either. Wood, Willow and Kennedy were all staring at them as well and a little group had massed downstairs, exchanging curious glances and concerned murmurs.

Giles joined them in the lobby, eyes darting between Buffy, Spike, and Faith in incomprehension. "What's the meaning of this? Buffy, are you...dripping? What's going on?!"

The blond Slayer clasped a hand against her forehead, tired of being asked this question. "Spike and I are leaving," she explained while Spike snatched his duster from the coat rack as if to illustrate her words.

"Leaving? Now?! But-"

Anya rushed inside the lobby, blond hair sticking out in all directions, holding a baseball bat high over her head, soon followed by Xander and Andrew, who were respectively waving a short one-handed axe and a...frying pan. "Are we under attack?!"

Buffy nearly tore her hair out. "Everybody just _shut up_!" she bawled, exasperation boiling through her veins. She almost ripped the handle off when she opened the front door. "You can't possibly understand!" _We know what's going to happen tomorrow_ , "There are certain things I need to sort out. I'll be back in the morning."

She didn't wait for an answer as she joined Spike- who'd already stepped out of he house- and unintentionally slammed the door shut behind her, before flying off into the night with her lover by her side.

* * *

Thanks for reading. And remember, review is love :-)


	7. No Tomorrow, Let Us Stop Here

_AN : So sorry for the long wait since the last chapter. Real life has been crazy, new (better) job, new city, moving-out, moving-in. Been really busy. I hope you can forgive me with this chapter :-)_

* * *

"Spike."

An electrical crackle snapping through the air was all Buffy got for an answer.

"Spike," she sighed again, wrapping herself deeper into the leather duster he'd lent her. "Not getting warmer over here," she added as a cool breeze blew through her still-wet hair and pulled goosebumps up to the surface of her skin.

"Just need a couple more seconds," the crouched vampire mumbled, not looking away from the sleek red Ducati he was currently trying to steal. Or commandeer may be more accurate, since you could hardly call it stealing when the owner had deliberately left it behind. "T's not like you could catch a cold."

"Slayers _can_ get sick you know. The flu even sent me to the hospital once," she replied, repressing a shiver, not because she was cold but rather because of the memory of what had lurked about in that said hospital.

Her eyes wandered around their surroundings while she waited and unsurprisingly ended up staring in the direction of Revello Drive. The ruffle of the passionate conversations which had broke out in her house after their departure had long ceased to reach their ears, they'd put enough distance between themselves and the confused group they'd left behind. They'd started on foot, officially to look for a house where they could spend the rest of the night, but in truth they'd needed to clear their mind and take some time to absorb it all. Then out of the blue Buffy had suggested a place they could go and- since it was further away from what they'd originally intended- when Spike had spotted the flaming motorcycle he hadn't been able to resist 'taking this baby for a last spin.'

She glanced over her companion's shoulder and watched his busy fingers fiddle with the wires for a while. He chose a brown one that had been burried deeper than the rest then cut and stripped it, using his vampire teeth for an instant.

Buffy's eyebrows twitched at the sight. She knew that neither a shock nor copper poisoning would kill him but still...

"Have you even done this before?"

She didn't mean to offend him, but bare wires were all over the place and the two of them had been exposed sitting ducks for some time now. The quietness of the night was eerie and shadows sometimes shrank, sometimes swelled, thickening as if into a liquid around the edges of the houses around them. All her senses were tingling and alert. They needed to move.

"I'd do a lot better, love, if you-"

The words froze in his throat, body tensing and sharp eyes peering into the darkness. He'd noticed the same thing than Buffy : the subtle stretch of a shadow, somewhere ahead. They stood still for an instant. She heard him sniff the air, and all he could hear was Buffy's heart…and another one. Faster, smaller, barely audible behind the strong beating coming from the Slayer's chest.

As if to ease their minds- and cut the suspense short- a black cat appeared and silently landed on the pavement opposite the street with a graceful leap. Tail in the air and ears pricking, the feline looked as if this was just another hunting night. It turned its pair of penetrating green eyes towards the couple but with little interest. Too big to be preys, too wary to be predators. Soon it undulated back into the darkness, apparently unconcerned by the mass exodus which had affected the rest of Sunnydale.

Buff's lungs let loose the air they'd been holding. For a minute there she had become painfully aware of how unarmed she was. A feeling she _really_ didn't fancy. "Come on Spike, just let it go. It's really not that far away," she pressed. "And we don't actually _have_ to go there, it was just idea, any house will do really... Besides if we want to keep a low profile riding a red bike is kinda a big no-no. I mean, the racket- "

The engine roared throatily into life at this point and Spike lithely rose to his feet, a smirk firmly set on his lips. "Who's bad now?" he muttered to himself, eyes sparkling at the private joke.

Buffy eyed him sternly, her gaze heavy enough that he turned towards her. "I don't know what you're so smug about," she reprimanded as the smell of gasoline stung her nostrils. "The whole neighborhood heard that."

"What neighbourhood?" He put the ignition cover back on so the wires were out of sight again. "Everybody's gone."

"Quit being a smartass. You know what I mean," she said grimly, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. Her eyes were hard as stones, but the oversized duster draped around her shoulders and trailing behind her undermined all credibility she might have had.

Spike swallowed back the smile that wanted to spring to his lips and swung his leg over the bike. "We know for a fact there won't be an attack tonight."

"We _don't_ know that," she argued, trying hard to keep an edge to her voice while every cell in her brain focused on how hot he suddenly looked. The sight of Spike sitting astride an italian engine strapped to two wheels had apparently tapped into an unexpected source of estrogen whithin her. "There's no guarantee it truly was the future that we saw," she kept going in a distracted voice, her gaze trying to settle down anywhere but on him. "And if it was then we've probably changed it already..."

"Buffy," he said, holding back the rest until she finally looked at him again. "It's hardly the time or place to philosophize over space-time continuum, parallel universes, and whatnot. Not a minute ago you wanted nothin' more than to take shelter. Quickest way to do that is to stop arguin' and hop on."

The leather duster creaked as her crossed-arms tightened and she gulped down her pride. Sometimes she hated it when he was right. Not giving him the chance to notice the blush that was creeping up to her face she climbed up behind him, letting out a huff that fanned over his nape and placing her hands lightly on his hips. "We're facing the wrong way," she grumbled, the vibrations of the purring engine between her legs adding to the 'Spike on a bike' fantasy she didn't know she had until now.

Since she couldn't see his face anymore, Spike allowed his lips to curl into a small smile when he leaned the bike over against his left leg. Without warning he twisted the throttle and spun the rear wheel around the axis of his braced leg, slewing the bike in a sharp u-turn and prompting Buffy to reflexively grasp his waist tight. Tyres screeched against the asphalt, spitting out tiny stones onto the road, and they surged forwards into the night.

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

With little taps, nudges, or squeezes of either his left or right arm, Buffy guided him through the town, silently telling him when to turn and where to go. They'd reached the outskirt of Sunnydale, where mansions, villas, and pleasure gardens had replaced the smaller, more modest houses of the city center. They rode through the deserted suburbs of the ghost town, the snarling Ducati thundering through the silence, the large full moon being their only but strong source of light, until Buffy pointed at one particularly imposing wrought-iron gate and Spike skidded the bike to a stop next to it with a finale rev of the engine.

"This' the place?" he asked, reaching behind him to slip his hand inside the pocket of the duster Buffy was still wearing. She let him pull his pack of Morleys out then climbed down the bike and stretched her legs that had been clamped too tightly on either side of the vehicle.

"Yep," she muttered, closing the gap between herself and the gate, gazing through the filigree of ironwork at the Mediterranean-inspired mansion that stood in the distance. The frat house where Cordelia had once dragged a reluctant Buffy. She'd been only sixteen years old at the time, insecure and secretly desirous of attention, swooning over Angel while Spike had been off trying to nurse a sickly Drusilla back to health. A lifetime ago.

While memories of that night painted pictures in her mind, she was adjusting to the nightly silence again; the soft chorus of crickets caressing her eardrums, the familiar sound of Spike flicking his lighter alight in her back.

"Why here?" he queried.

Buffy cast a glance at him over her shoulder. Leaning against the leather seat of the bike, black-jean clad legs crossed at the ankle, the tip of his cigarette glowing bright red as he inhaled... She quickly looked ahead again, kicking herself inside at her inhability to control her hormones, especially since she knew he would have heard the increase of her heart rate.

"I don't know," she replied, swallowing. "Call it nostalgia."

"Nostalgia?" he chuckled. "You find being chained as an offering to a cavernous wall nostalgic? Mmh?"

The double entendre here couldn't be missed. He could either mean the all 'Machida psycho-cult business' she'd told him about, or the time when _he_ had bound her to the wall of his crypt, finally revealing the full extent of his obsession with her.

Buffy shrugged, deliberately ignoring the hint and walked alongside the gate until she reached the boundary wall that surrounded the property, the wall being a little lower than the gate itself. She took a few steps back for momentum. "At least I won't feel any remorse about pawing through their stuff and sleeping in their beds." Without waiting for an answer she suddenly leaped over the wall and gracefully landed in a rolling summersault in the grass.

Spike tucked his cigarette between his smiling lips and pushed away from the bike. Positioning himself directly in front of the gate he sprang upwards to grab the upper edge, slung himself over the top and dropped to the gravelly pathway before joining Buffy's side.

The house was just as big and fancy as she remembered it, though noticeably silent and empty. The white exterior reflected the moonlight brillantly, causing the building to stand out against the dark green lawn. The arches, the balconies, the neatly trimmed bushes, all of it was brandishing the wealth of the owners before you'd even entered the house.

They walked into the darkness shrouding the front door under the arcade and Spike tried the handle. Locked. "Wouldn't count on it," he sighed around his cigarette, lifting the nearest plant pot, "but perhaps there's a spare somewhere-" The crash of the door being roughly kicked-in by an impatient Slayer interrupted him. Eyebrows raised in resigned bewilderment, the vampire lowered the Morley from his mouth. "Or we can do that," he concluded wryly, jabbing the cigarette out in the pot he was still holding.

The inside was pretty dark, but they could still discern the main shapes of the furniture. Neither of them commented on the fact that Spike was able to enter without an invitation. The reason was too depressing.

 _'This town really is theirs, innit?'_

"Right," Buffy said. "Candle hunting mode: on."

"Let the professional handle it," Spike cut in, walking ahead of her and into the nearest room to their right which happened to be a dining room. Buffy followed him as he went straight towards the wooden cupboard that was nestled in the corner of the room. He grabbed the ornate five-branched candelabrum that had been standing there and started to light up the candles with his Zippo. He'd been born to the scent of candles, had lived his human life and a good deal of his vampire years in a world where electricity hadn't been discovered yet. Candle wax was a smell he wasn't about to forget.

"How did you..." Buffy blurted, then turned astonished eyes on him. "You _smelled_ the candles?"

Illuminated by the warm glow of the flames, his lips cocked at one corner into a small smirk. "You don't wanna know all the things I can smell, Kitten."

Buffy wondered for an instant what he meant then remembered her body's reaction to seing him on the bike and hoped to God that wasn't what he'd implied. Heat flooded her chest and crawled up her neck to cover her face. If Spike had sensed her embarrassment he didn't show it, instead he handed her the now-fully-lit candelabrum and rattled through the cupboard's drawer, spilling more candles onto the top.

"Hum, since apparently you've got this," Buffy wavered, "I'm gonna go see if I can find something to put on. You know, something not wet. Or ripped." _I need to stop talking now_.

"Sure," he acknowledged absently, focused on his task.

Buffy stiffly nodded, feeling slightly awkward as she left the room. In the profound silence of the house she could hear her damp shoes squish with each step. The candles she held cast long shadows as she ventured through the corridors. Framed black and white photographs peppered the walls here and there, expensive-looking oriental carpets covered the dark glossy hardwood floor, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. All in impersonal opulence.

She passed a pair of french doors and found herself in what she remembered as the main living room. The furniture had changed. Buffy had vaguely heard that the house had been confiscated from the fraterny and bought by some rich familly. Nevertheless she decided the style had remained the same as she noticed the fireplace mantelpiece and the cups and trophies displayed with ostentatious pretension on it.

She slipped out of Spike's duster, slung it over the back of the nearest armchair, and started up the stairs she knew led to the bedrooms. She avoided the one where she'd hauled her drugged body that night when the house had been filled with devil-worshiping frat boys, tried another bedroom which closets had been stripped empty, then a second one that contained only men's clothes far too big for her, and it was in the third room that she found some pieces- scattered over the bed, a mark of the owners precipitated departure- that could suit her.

Feminine silk shirts, pencil skirts, pants that weren't her size and would hang too low on her hips... She eventually settled for a long, satin, black cocktail dress. At least she believed it was black; it was hard to tell with so little light. Dark red maybe. She wished she could have found something less formal, but it was the only dress she had dug out that wasn't in velvet, sparkling with tiny shiny stones, or exposing vertiginous cleavage. It was the simplest one that had been left here, still probably ten times more expensive than anything she'd ever had in her wardrobe.

She made her way to a bathroom, laid the candleholder one the vanity top, and vigorously rubbed dry her messy hair with a towel. The dark little spot on the side of her throat caught her attention and Buffy pulled her hair on the other side of her neck. She drew close to the miror, watching her own fingers brush against the bite mark that was already half healed.

Another scar that would constantly remind her that she wasn't quite human herself.

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

Spike placed the last candle on the black lacquered coffee table that occupied the center of the room and straightened up to admire his work. He'd gotten his hands on quite a few candles in the end, but more importantly he'd managed to turn on the gas fireplace, and the living room was flickering with a golden haze.

The vintage walnut cabinet he'd already noticed drew his attention again. He ambled towards it, opened the stained glass doors, and eyed the crystal carafes that lay there. He withdrew an angular one that was half filled with a dark amber liquid, lifted the lid, and raised it to his nose. A strong, sweetly pungent scent of nuts and cherry invaded his sensitive nostrils and his eyes all but rolled back in their sockets. He hummed outloud and his mouth flooded with saliva. A good old scotch, single malt- he could tell- and probably thirty or more years old. Liquid gold. Vastly superior (incomparable really) to the cheap scorching bourbon he was used to.

Snatching up a glass he poured himself a generous amount and put the carafe back on its shelf before continuing his exploration of the room. Small dust-free circles on shelves indicated that bibelots were missing, grabbed in a haste during the suitcase-packing, car-loading frenzy that had taken place here. Portraits of some stuck-up, snobbish family members remained, and Spike snorted at the look of haughty disdain on their faces. As if even the camera lens wasn't good enough for them.

He took a sip of the scotch and had to close his eyes at the mouth-coating sensation, the smoky-flavoured, silky-feeling beverage taking its time to reach his stomach, leaving a smooth trail of fire down his throat. Not as heavenly as Buffy's blood, but damn good nonetheless. He mentally apologized to the photographs, people who drank this kind of stuff couldn't be total knobs.

His wandering about brought him in front of what looked like a portable vinyl turntable. Spike couldn't see any wire coming out of it and he crossed his fingers as he flicked the power button. A small LED shone green, triggering a boyish grin from the vampire. Battery operated! Well, this certainly was the place to be during a power cut.

He wondered why the Hell they hadn't taken it with them while he flicked through the vinyl jackets that were tidily stored on a rack next to the record player. No rock, but a best of Ella Fitzgerald caught his eye. He laid the album on the turntable, gently placed the needle on the black rotating surface of the vinyl, and soon _Cry Me a River_ suffused the air. Ella's effortless stunning vocals washed over him like warm water, completing the cosy, peaceful bubble he was wrapping himself into. With that music in the air, with that taste in his mouth, it was hard to believe they were on the brink of the Apocalypse.

A large leather tufted couch flanked by two matching armchairs were framing the coffee table and facing the fireplace. Spike slouched down on the couch, one arm draped across the backrest, the other bringing the glass up to his lips again, his eyes quickly losing themselves in the bright flames dancing in the hearth.

As far as 'last nights of the condemned' went, this wasn't bad at all.

The house was snug and well-equipped, he was drinking the smoothest, most refined whisky in town (it had to be), the soft warm light was soothing, the couch was comfortable, the music exquisite. And, above all, he had Buffy all for himself. He should have been satisfied, if not happy. Yet he dropped a sorrowful gaze to his glass and the thumb which was absentmindedly running along its rim, and felt his throat constrict in melancholy.

He'd been ready to die for a long time now. Ever since he'd gotten his soul back. He wasn't quite sure what had kept him alive these first few months. Perhaps the wish to do right by Buffy, the hope to finally deserve her forgiveness and regard. He'd been ready to die the day before, he'd been ready to die that very morning. But now? After what he'd shared with Buffy? He wasn't so eager anymore. He wished he could have enjoyed it just a little bit longer...

Pointless, he knew. At that very same hour the next day he would be gone. Burnt to the bone, having taken all of the bat-faced wankers with him. His wish to do right by the Slayer would be granted: he would save her life, and everybody else's.

He exhaled a long, drawn out sigh and took another sip as a consolation. They would have to talk about it at some point, even if he knew she didn't want to. Their knowledge of the battle's outcome changed everything. No one needed to die apart from him, better to safely keep everyone far away from the blast. He could go down there on his own and he would win. In the vision the amulet had started to tingle from the very beginning but he'd tried to ignore it, until its calling had been too strong. He knew that if instead of fighting it he embraced it, things would be over pretty quickly. He would go wherever it was that the amulet would take him, which was definitely _not_ on this plane of existence.

Head leaned against the backrest, he was staring at the ceiling when he heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs. His eyes inevitably gravitated towards her and his mind emptied of thoughts as soon as he saw her. Any worry, any fear he might have had, vanished all at once.

She padded down the stairs in her bare feet, holding the silver candelabrum in her hand, a spaghetti-strap, dark merlot-colored dress loosely wrapped around her slender figure. Thigh-high side slits parted with every step she took, allowing glimpses of her smooth, lissom legs. And with her wild, wavy blond hair sublimated by candlelight, she looked more vampire now than Harmony ever had. A vision, from another time.

The univers' message was clear. ' _Here you go. Enjoy it while you can William._ '

"I love what you've done with the place," Buffy interrupted the univers as she climbed down the last step.

The tight waist of the dress was accentuating her slim build, with just the right amount of attention to her feminine curves. Folds of her dress caught the light, the glossy fabric changing color as she moved. Black, burgendy, crimson, prune...

"Hum," he started hoarsly, then cleared his throat. "Yeah... I- yeah. Tried my best," he stammered quietly, his eyes glued to her form as she bent over to put the candelabrum on the coffee table and came to stand in front of him.

She didn't seem to mind his unbending stare-which he wasn't even trying to hide- and she glanced down at the glass he was holding. "Whatcha drinking?" she asked prettily, as if she wasn't aware of her exuding sensuality. As if.

Before his mind had the time to form a coherent answer, she reached down and slipped the glass from Spike's suddenly boneless fingers. She sniffed the beverage, and he expected her to wrinkle her nose at the powerful smell, but instead an air of surprised appreciation crossed her features. She took a sip, scrunched up her face for a second, then looked into the glass. "Not bad."

The vampire remained speechless, not looking away from her face, dragging Buffy's gaze up to meet his. Her eyes gradually lost their pretense of casualness, until some intense determination was all that was left in her smoldering irises. Without a word she slightly lifted her dress with one hand and slowly climbed onto the couch, putting her legs on either side of his. Spike tensed, his lung sucking in a breath of air, filling him with her scent, but never broke eye contact. Now sitting astride him, Buffy grazed the rim of the glass against her parted lips before she drained it altogether and leaned in to kiss him.

Spike's lids slid shut and soon he felt the soft pressure of her lips against his. His arms moved on their own accord, circling her waist, and he parted his lips under hers. The taste of scotch pervaded his mouth, he felt the burning liquid flow over his tongue and only then realised she hadn't consumed that last gulp. He swallowed, the intoxicating mixed flavour of Buffy and whisky wringing a muffled grunt from his throat. Losing any restraint, he buried his fingers in the mass of her hair, and greedily drank from her mouth, his loins ablazed. In return Buffy dropped the empty glass, which rolled on the couch to land soundlessly on the thick rug below, and poured her soul into the kiss. A single drop escaped their linked lips, dribbled down Buffy's jaw, and it was quickly licked off her skin by Spike's hungry tongue.

They both slid into dark, hot desire. In a haze of searching lips and twirling tongues, they pressed their bodies together as if they could merge into one. His hands were everywhere, fondling, caressing, exploring, open palms gliding up her bare thighs and slipping under the hem of her dress until they cupped her buttocks. Naked. They moaned simutaneously, Spike feeling more than cramped in his jeans, his head dropping to the crook of her neck, his lips skimming over her pulse.

 _Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump..._

Buffy leaned her head back in trust- a move utterly wrong coming from a Slayer- and Spike ignored the blood coursing beneath her silky skin, a move utterly wrong coming from a vampire. He raised her up with his hands until his face was level with her chest. The tip of his nose brushed along the v-shape edge of her dress, then over the satin itself to reach the nearest nipple peaking under the thin material. He sighed in contentent, his cool breath tickling her skin through the fabric then pressed his lips against it, the mouthwatering scent of her arousal suddenly thick and heady in the air.

Buffy exhaled unsteadily, grazed his scalp with her nails, and reached between them to pull his zipper down, finishing what she had started in her bathroom an hour earlier. Soon their bodies were joined, Buffy's arms wound tightly around his neck like she were afraid he might disappear into thin air any second, her pelvis rising and sinking at a slow, rhythmic, delicious pace over him. Rising, falling, swiveling, tensing, relaxing...

Their eyes stayed locked together the whole time. While she rocked her hips against his with increasing force, Spike vision narrowed until all he could see was her glowing face, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the breathtaking pleasure in her eyes. That was how he wanted to remember her. Trusting, intense, magnificent.

His guts burning in blissful fire, he carved this picture in his mind so he would take it to the grave, marvelling over the fact that, for the first time in their tumultuous relationship, they were truly making love.

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

Some candles had burnt out, the rest had become considerably shorter. Their clothes lay in heaps on the rug, their bare bodies lying on the couch, limbs intertwined together like they were the last lovers in the world. The music had stopped, replaced by the soft crackling of the vinyl spinnng idly in the background, and Buffy had finally found sleep in his arms.

She was snuggled up against him and he was holding her close, brushing the back of his knuckles up and down her body. Gently caressing down her shoulder, her arm, the dip of her waist, the hill of her hip, then up again along the flat surface of her belly... He was watching her sleep, soaking up as much as he could of her into his memory, fighting against fatigue as long as he could, until he lost to Morpheus and fell into slumber as well.

* * *

 _AN : Thanks for reading ! Tell me what you think, if you have a minute :-)  
_

 _PS:_ _I know that this chapter is more of a filler than anything else. Next one will be more centered on the plot._

 _Title :_ _Dry and Dusty - Fever Ray_


End file.
